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BL  240  .C5  1872 
Child,  G.  Chaplin 
The  great  architect. 
Benedicite 


QL^e  dSreat  3rcl)ttcct 


BENEDICITE; 

ILLUSTRATIONS    OF   THE    POWER,    WISDOM,    ANT) 

GOODNESS    OF  GOD,   AS   MANIFESTED   IN 

HIS  WORKS. 


V 

By    G     CHAPLIN    CHILD,  M.  D. 


TWO  VOLUMES  IN  ONE. 


NEW    YORK: 

G.   P.   PUTNAM    AND    SONS. 

Association    Building,   4™   Avenue   and  23P   Street 

187-'. 


(Reprinted  from  the  London  edition  of  John  Murray,  issned 
December,   1866.] 


"  Every  advance  in  our  knowledge  of  the  natural  world 
will,  if  rightly  directed  by  the  spirit  of  true  humility,  and 
with  a  prayer  for  God's  blessing,  advance  us  in  our  knowl- 
edge of  Himself,  and  will  prepare  us  to  receive  His  revela- 
tions of  His  Will  with  profounder  reverence  "  —  Sir  Robert 
H.  Inglis,  British  Association,   1 847. 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE. 


BY   HENRY  G.   WESTON,   D.  D. 


HE  work  here  offered  to  the  American  public, 
it  is  confidently  believed,  will  be  found  worthy 
*^1  of  a  wide  circulation.  The  author  is  an  intel- 
ligent physician,  at  home  in  the  various  departments  of 
natural  science,  who  has  in  the  treatment  of  his  theme 
most  happily  avoided  on  the  one  hand  the  habit  of  many 
scientists  of  depreciating  Revelation,  and  on  the  other  the 
forced  and  strained  arguments  employed  by  some  true 
but  injudicious  friends  of  Religion.  Written  in  an  easy 
and  flowing  style,  abounding  in  illustrations  and  incidents, 
unincumbered  by  abstruse  and  scientific  terms,  the  book 
cannot  fail  to  interest  as  well  as  instruct.  Science  and 
Religion,  Knowledge  and  Piety,  walk  together  in  these 
pages  in  unalloyed  friendship  ;  while  the  charm  thrown 
around  the  train  of  thought  continues  unbroken  to  the 
close. 

An  occasional  allusion  to  England  and  to  the  Estab- 
lished Church  of  that  country  will  be  noticed  by  the 
careful  reader.  This  edition  being  an  exact  and  literal 
reprint,  these  allusions  are  of  course  left  untouched  ; 
they  are  but  few  in  number,  do  not  at  all  affect  the  ar- 
gument, and  are    never   offensively  obtruded.      A  warm 


2  Introductory  Note, 

heart  as  well  as  a  clear  head  is  demanded  for  the  pro- 
duction of  a  work  like  this,  and  such  a  heart  must  have 
a  country  and  a  church  to  love.  Americans  can  under- 
stand and  appreciate  the  feelings  which  find  such  almost 
involuntary  utterance,  and  can  respect  in  others  what  they 
cherish  in  themselves,  —  that  patriotism  which  does  not 
depreciate  other  lands  while  it  regards  with  fondest  affec- 
tion its  own  God-given  home. 

New  York,  March,  1867. 


p^ TV 

CONTENTS. 


— *__ 

PAOH 

Introduction.      Babylon.     Nebuchadnezzar  and  the  Burning 

Fiery  Furnace.     The  Song  of  the  Three  Children        .  7 

The  Heavens 20 

The  Sun  and  the  Moon.    The  Planets     ....  27 

The  Stars  of  Heaven 51 

Winter  and  Summer      ........  72 

Nights  and  Days 85 

Light  and  Darkness ,        .  88 

Waters  above  the  Firmament  , 100 

Lightning  and  Clouds 106 

Showers  and  Dew 1       .  in 

Wells *22 

Seas  and  Floods *34 

The  Winds  of  God.        .               158 

Fire  and  Heat 17l 

Frost  and  Cold.  —  Ice  and  Snow 182 

Powers  of  the  Lord l9% 

Mountains  and  Hills 22° 

The  Earth 22>° 

Green  Things  upon  the  Earth 25r 

Beasts  and  Cattle 286 

Fowls  of  the  Air 3°° 

Whales,  and  All  that  move  in  the  Waters       .       .  338 

Concluding  Reflections 362 


GOD   MAGNIFIED    IN    HIS   WORKS, 


GOD  MAGNIFIED   IN  HIS    WORKS. 


Babylon  —  the  glory  of  kingdoms,  the  beauty  of  the  Chaldees'1  ex- 
cellency!—  Isaiah  xiii.  19. 
Her  cities  are  a  desolation,  a  dry  land,  and  a  ^wilderness,  a  land 
ivherein  no  man  dnvelleth.  —  Jeremiah  li.  43. 

^|N  an  outlying  province  of  the  Turkish  empire, 
where  sultan  and  firman  are  often  superseded  by 
the  lawless  will  of  sheik  or  pacha,  two  famous 
rivers  —  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates  —  gradually  converge, 
and,  after  mingling  their  waters  together,  glide  gently  on- 
ward to  the  Persian  Gulf.  In  the  fork  thus  formed  be- 
tween them  stretches  a  vast  plain,  made  known  to  us  in 
early  Scripture  History  as  Shinar,  Chaldaea,  and  Babylon, 
as  well  as  by  other  less  familiar  names,  but  to  which  the 
term  Mesopotamia  has  been  more  usually  applied,  as  it 
aptly  designates  a  district  "  lying  between  rivers."  The 
general  aspect  of  this  plain  is  one  of  desolation.  Fertile 
strips  here  and  there  border  the  Euphrates'  banks,  and 
willows  are  still  seen  flourishing  where  the  sorrowing 
Israelites  once  hung  up  their  harps  ;  but  away  from  those 
green  fringes  the  eye  wanders  over  wild,  dreary  wastes 
from  which  the  last  traces  of  cultivation  are  slowly  dying 
out.  Vast  tracts  lie  soaked  in  permanent  swamps,  while 
much  of  the  remaining  land  is,  at  one  period  of  the  year, 
flooded  by  the  unheeded  inundations  of  the  neighboring 
rivers,  and,  at  another,  baked  into  an  arid  desert  by  the 
burning  rays  of  the  sun.  It  need  scarcely  be  said  that 
population  has  almost  disappeared  from  those  melancholy 
plains ;  for  the  wandering  Arab  is  little  tempted  to  pitch 


8  God  magnified  in  his   Works. 

his  tent  or  to  pasture  his  flocks  on  so  sterile  a  soil.  The 
doom  that  was  so  clearly  foretold  by  the  prophets  has 
fallen  upon  it,  and  Babylon  now  "  lies  desolate  in  the  sight 
of  all  that  pass  by."  It  has  become  the  "habitation  of 
the  beasts  of  the  desert."  As  the  traveler  plods  onward 
over  its  unfrequented  tracts,  the  startled  wild-fowl  rises 
with  quick  splash  from  the  reedy  pool,  or  a  few  scared 
gazelles  may  perhaps  be  descried  bounding  over  the  dis- 
tant plain.  The  "  owl  "  and  the  "  bittern,"  the  jackal  and 
the  hyena  add  their  testimony  to  the  exactness  with  which 
the  words  of  Scripture  have  been  fulfilled.  More  rarely 
a  solitary  lion  may  be  seen  skulking  among  the  strange, 
mysterious  mounds  and  "  heaps  "  of  stones  that  loom  here 
and  there  above  the  plain. 

Mournful  and  dreary  though  this  land  now  be,  it  is  and 
ever  will  remain  one  of  the  most  interesting  spots  on  earth. 
It  was  not  always  "desolate."  No  other  place,  perhaps, 
claims  with  a  better  title  to  be  regarded  as  the  scene 
where  our  first  parents  walked  together  in  paradise. 
Such,  at  least,  has  been  the  common  tradition ;  and  in  a 
well-known  edition  of  the  Bible,  published  in  1599,  may  be 
found  a  map  of  the  Garden  of  Eden,  of  which  the  site  of 
Babylon  forms  the  centre.  But,  be  that  as  it  may,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  of  its  former  greatness  and  fertility,  for 
the  record  is  plainly  written  all  over  the  soil.  Everywhere 
it  is  furrowed  by  ruined  canals,  of  which  some  tell  us  of 
departed  commerce  and  wealth,  others  of  skillful  irrigation 
and  abundant  crops.  Heaps  of  rubbish  are  to  be  met 
with  in  which  lie  hidden  fragments  of  pottery  which  bear 
witness  to  the  former  presence  of  a  highly  cultivated  peo- 
ple ;  and  uncouth  mounds  rise  strangely  above  the  plain, 
in  which  the  last  relics  of  palaces  and  cities  are  buried  to- 
gether. For  centuries  History  appeared  to  have  lost  her 
hold  upon  those  great  places  of  the  past,  and  it  is  only 
within  the  last  few  years  that  some  of  them  have  been 
rescued  from  the  oblivion  that  was  slowly  creeping  over 


God  magnified  in  his    Works.  9 

them.  Questioned  by  the  light  of  modern  knowledge 
those  mysterious  stones  of  the  plains  open  up  to  us  the 
first  page  in  the  history  of  nations  —  transport  us  back 
almost  to  the  dawn  where  antiquity  begins,  and  bring 
within  our  sight  those  to  whom  the  deluge  was  a  recent 
event.  They  impart  a  substance  to  scenes  we  have  often 
tried  in  vain  to  realize.  In  imagination  we  see  Nimrod 
the  Mighty  Hunter,  busy  with  the  foundations  of  the  city 
of  Babel  on  the  neighboring  Euphrates'  bank,  and  piling 
up  the  "  tower  that  was  to  reach  to  heaven."  Then  it 
was  that  the  patriarchal  dignity  of  early  Bible  records 
expanded  into  royalty,  and  Babylon  became  the  starting 
point  in  the  long  pedigree  of  kingdoms. 

•Babylon  touched  the  zenith  of  its  grandeur  two  thou- 
sand four  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  when  Nebuchad- 
nezzar sat  upon  the  throne.  He  was  the  great  warrior  of 
that  age.  After  overrunning  Egypt  he  had  returned  to  his 
capital  laden  with  its  spoil  ;  he  had  chastised  his  rebel- 
lious subjects  and  treacherous  allies,  and  he  had  utterly 
crushed  the  power  of  the  Kings  of  Judah.  The  wicked 
and  faithless  Jehoiakim,  blind  to  the  warnings  he  received, 
had  brought  a  terrible  doom  upon  his  country ;  for  Nebu- 
chadnezzar, not  content  with  plundering  the  treasures  of 
the  temple  at  Jerusalem,  carried  the  king  himself  a  pris- 
oner to  Babylon.  Among  the  captives  on  this  occasion 
were  included  Daniel  the  Prophet  and  his  three  friends,  — 
Ananias,  Azarias,  and  Misael,  who  in  the  land  of  their 
exile  received  the  Chaldean  names  of  Shadrach,  Meshach, 
and  Abednego. 

Nebuchadnezzar  was  no  less  great  in  the  arts  of  peace 
than  in  those  of  war.  He,  therefore,  encouraged  learned 
men  to  make  his  capital  their  resort,  and  he  also  promoted 
the  national  prosperity  by  favoring  agriculture  and  com- 
merce. He  dug  canals  in  all  directions  to  fertilize  the 
land  by  irrigation.  His  merchants  traded  along  the  rich 
shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  penetrated  even  to  re- 


io  God  magnified  in  his   Works, 

mote  China.  He  provided  for  the  security  of  Babylon  by 
building  or  strengthening  its  walls,  and  he  made  it  beauti- 
ful by  adorning  it  with  palaces.  Its  "  hanging-gardens  " 
were  acknowledged  throughout  ancient  times  to  be  one  of 
the  wonders  of  the  world,  and  their  fame  has  endured  up 
to  this  very  hour. 

At  the  court  of  such  a  monarch,  Daniel's  learning  was 
sure  to  procure  for  him  distinction,  and  he  soon  became  a 
member  of  the  college  of  Magi  or  wise  men.  His  subse- 
quent success  in  interpreting  Nebuchadnezzar's  dream, 
after  all  others  had  failed,  raised  him  to  the  first  rank  in 
the  tyrant's  favor,  and  we  are  told  that  "  he  sat  in  the 
gate  of  the  king."  Nor  in  his  prosperity  did  he  forget  his 
three  Jewish  friends,  —  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Ab«d- 
nego,  —  who  through  his  influence  were  promoted  to  be 
Governors  in  the  province  of  Babylon. 

The  history  of  Nebuchadnezzar  and  the  burning,  fiery 
furnace  —  so  illustrative  on  the  one  hand  of  perfect  trust 
in  God,  and,  on  the  other,  of  God's  power  to  deliver  his 
servants  from  the  assaults  of  their  enemies  —  is  endeared 
to  all  as  one  of  the  interesting  Scripture  narratives  by 
which  those  who  watched  over  us  in  the  days  of  childhood 
endeavored  to  attract  us  onward  to  the  knowledge  of  our 
Bible.  In  the  book  of  Daniel  it  is  related  how  Nebu- 
chadnezzar, after  having  been  brought  by  the  miraculous 
interpretation  of  his  dream  to  acknowledge  the  "  God  of 
Gods  and  Lord  of  Kings,"  subsequently  relapsed  into  idol- 
atry through  the  corrupting  influence  of  worldly  prosperity. 
In  the  full  swell  of  his  pride  he  set  up  a  golden  image, 
and  commanded  that  all  his  subjects  should  fall  down  and 
worship  it.  The  Babylonian  nobles  were  jealous  of  the 
favor  shown  to  the  three  captives  ;  and  they,  therefore,  en- 
couraged this  wicked  fancy  of  the  king,  because  it  seemed 
to  open  out  the  means  of  effecting  their  ruin.  They 
rightly  calculated  that  the  Hebrew  Governors  would  never 
forsake  the  God  of  their  Fathers,  nor  worship  the  image 


God  magnified  in  Jus   Works.  1 1 

which  the  king  had  set  up.  And  we  know  that  when  the 
hour  of  trial  did  come,  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abed- 
nego  remained  true  to  their  faith ;  and  were  forthwith 
bound  and  cast  into  the  burning,  fiery  furnace,  as  a  pun- 
ishment for  their  disobedience  to  the  tyrant's  will. 

From  the  torments  and  dangers  of  this  ordeal  the  Three 
Hebrews  were  miraculously  preserved.  Daniel  tells  us 
that  Nebuchadnezzar  himself  saw  them  "  loose  and  walk- 
ing in  the  midst  of  the  fire."  "  Not  a  hair  of  their  heads 
was  singed,  neither  were  their  coats  changed,  nor  had  the 
smell  of  fire  passed  on  them."  Elsewhere,  in  the  Song 
of  the  Three  Children,  we  are  told  that  "  they  walked  in 
the  midst  of  the  fire,  praising  God,  and  blessing  the 
Lord."  After  so  signal  a  deliverance,  it  is  easy  to  con- 
ceive the  fervor  with  which  their  Hymn  of  gratitude  was 
poured  forth.  The  deepest  consciousness  of  the  merciful 
Power  of  God  welled  up  in  their  hearts  and  burst  from 
their  lips,  and  the  whole  universe  was  ransacked  for  illus- 
trations to  typify  and  express  it.  In  whatever  direction 
they  turned,  they  beheld  Nature  crowded  with  emblems  of 
His  Greatness  and  Mercy,  and  they  eagerly  seized  upon 
them  as  aids  to  bring  their  thoughts  up  to  the  fervor  of 
their  adoration.  Shall  not  we  also  do  wisely  to  profit  by 
their  example  ?  Our  daily  obligations  to  God  may  not 
be  so  miraculous,  in  the  ordinary  meaning  of  the  term, 
but  they  are,  nevertheless,  great  and  countless  beyond  our 
power  to  conceive.  Let  us  then,  in  humble  consciousness 
of  the  poverty  and  imperfection  of  our  thanksgivings, 
gladly  make  this  suggestive  hymn  our  own ;  and  let  us  on 
this,  as  on  all  occasions,  accept  with  joy  every  aid  that 
helps  us  to  "bless,  praise,  and  magnify  the  Lord." 


12  God  magnified  in  his   Works, 

Benedicite,  omnia  opera. 

O  all  ye  Works  of  the  Lord,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise 
him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Angels  of  the  Lord,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise 
him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Heavens,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise  him,  and  mag- 
nify him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Waters  that  be  above  the  Firmament,  bless  ye  the 
Lord  :  praise  him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  all  ye  Powers  of  the  Lord,  bless  ye  the  Lord  :  praise 
him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Sun  and  Moon,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise  him, 
and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Stars  of  Heaven,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise  him, 
and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Showers  and  Dew,  bless  ye  the  Lord  :  praise  him, 
and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Winds  of  God,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise  him, 
and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Fire  and  Heat,  bless  ye  the  Lord  :  praise  him, 
and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Winter  and  Summer,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise 
him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever.  , 

O  ye  Dews  and  Frosts,  bless  ye  the  Lord  :  praise  him, 
and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Frost  and  Cold,  bless  ye  the  Lord  :  praise  him, 
and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Ice  and  Snow,  bless  ye  the  Lord  :  praise  him,  and 
magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Nights  and  Days,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise  him, 
and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Light  and  Darkness,  bless  ye  the  Lord  :  praise 
him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Lightnings  and  Clouds,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise 
him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 


God  magnified  in  his   Works.  13 

O  let  the  Earth  bless  the  Lord  :  yea,  let  it  praise  him, 
and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Mountains  and  Hills,  bless  ye  the  Lord  :  praise 
him  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  all  ye  Green  Things  upon  the  Earth,  bless  ye  the 
Lord  :  praise  him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Wells,  bless  ye  the  Lord  :  praise  him,  and  mag- 
nify him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Seas  and  Floods,  bless  ye  the  Lord  :  praise  hinu 
and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Whales,  and  all  that  move  in  the  Waters,  bless  ye 
the  Lord  :  praise  him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  all  ye  Fowls  of  the  Air,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise 
him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  all  ye  Beasts  and  Cattle,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise 
him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Children  of  Men,  bles    ye  the  Lord  :  praise  him, 
and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  let  Israel  bless  the  Lord :  praise  him,  and  magnify 
him  for  ever. 

O  ye    Priests  of  the  Lord,  bless  ye  the  Lord  :  praise 
him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Servants  of  the  Lord,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise 
him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Spirits  and  Souls  of  the   Righteous,  bless  ye  the 
Lord :  praise  him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  ye  holy  and  humble  Men  of  heart,  bless  ye  the  Lord : 
praise  him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

O  Ananias,  Azarias,  and   Misael,  bless  ye  the    Lord  : 
praise  him,  and  magnify  him  for  ever. 

Glory  be  to  the  Father,  and   to  the  Son,  and   to   the 

Holy  Ghost ; 

As  it  was  in  the  beginning,  is  now,  and  ever  shall  be  ; 
world  without  end.     Amen. 

The  "  Benedicite  "  forms  a  part  of  The  Song  of  The 


14  God  magnified  in  his   Works, 

Three  Children,  with  whom  tradition  has  identified  Sha* 
drach,  Meshach,  and  Abednego.  But,  whether  tradition 
be  right  or  wrong  in  this  instance,  the  Canticle  has  an 
intrinsic  interest  of  its  own,  both  because  it  has  been  in- 
corporated with  the  Service  of  the  Episcopal  Church,  and 
because  it  is  one  of  the  most  suggestive  and  soul-stirring 
hymns  in  existence.  In  accordance  with  an  injunction  in 
King  Edward  the  Sixth's  First  Book,  it  is  customary  to 
sing  the  "  Benedicite  "  during  Lent,  and  in  some  churches, 
we  regret  to  think,  it  is  never  heard  at  any  other  time, 
while  in  a  few  it  seems  to  be  banished  from  the  Service 
altogether.  It  is  also  true  that  Books  of  Common  Prayer 
have  been  published  in  which  this  hymn  finds  no  place. 
It  is  impossible,  indeed,  not  to  perceive  that  there  is  a 
"  shyness  "  or  even  a  repugnance  with  some  in  regard  to 
it,  which  causes  it  to  be  sung  at  the  times  prescribed 
rather  in  obedience  to  custom  or  ecclesiastical  authority, 
than  from  any  feeling  of  its  fitness  for  devotional  use. 
And  yet,  as  it  cannot  be  denied  that  many  find  in  it  a 
valued  help  to  adoration,  the  conviction  rises  strongly  in 
the  mind  that  it  is  equally  fitted  to  become  an  aid  to  all. 
Whence  comes,  let  us  ask,  this  difference  in  the  effect 
produced  by  the  same  thing  —  whence  this  absence  of 
appreciation  which  spoils  and  renders  distasteful  to  some 
a  hymn  from  which  others  derive  such  heart-felt  benefit  ? 
May  not  the  cause  lie  either  in  a  too  literal  acceptance  of 
the  words  themselves,  or  in  the  want  of  those  few  grains 
of  knowledge  which  alone  were  needed  to  bring  home  to 
us  the  force  of  the  hymn  as  an  exposition  of  the  Power 
and  Mercy  of  God.  When  sculptors  and  painters  repre- 
sent animals  bellowing  forth  their  praise  from  gaping 
mouths,  they  embody  the  literal  meaning  of  the  words, 
and  give  currency  to  that  ewoneous  conception  of  their 
import  which,  with  more  or  less  distinctness,  has  found  an 
entrance  into  the  minds  of  many.  It  seems  almost  need- 
less to  remark  tha*  such  a  gross  realization  of  the  hymn 


God  magnified  in  his    Works.  \  5 

misses  its  purpose  altogether.  The  "  beasts  that  perish  " 
have  no  knowledge  of  their  Creator,  and  are  not  suscep- 
tible of  those  emotions  which  constitute  adoration  ;  while 
man  is  even  less  nobly  distinguished  from  them  by  his 
form  than  he  is  by  his  moral  nature,  and  his  privilege  of 
enjoying  the  perception  of  God  and  singing  His  praise. 
A  literal  interpretation  given  to  the  "  Benedicite  "  clothes 
it  with  inconsistency,  suggests  an  ^Esopian  fable  rather 
than  a  Christian  hymn,  and  tends  to  check  rather  than 
promote  devotion.  Every  shade  of  such  a  meaning  must 
be  banished  from  the  mind,  and  exchanged  for  another 
more  true  and  elevating.  It  is  only  by  the  thoughts  sug- 
gested by  the  wonderful  perfections  of  animals  that  they 
can  serve  as  aids  to  adoration  ;  and  it  is  in  the  same  sense 
only  that  dead  things  —  such  as  stars,  the  sea,  or  the  wind 
—  can  be  properly  associated  with  living  things  as  pro- 
moting with  equal  fitness  the  same  end.  If  this  interpre- 
tation be  not  admitted  the  words  degenerate  into  extrava- 
gance, and  are  stripped  of  all  their  beautiful  significance 
in  the  minds  of  thoughtful  men.  Invested  with  the  same 
indirect  meaning,  the  names  of  Ananias,  Azarias,  and 
Misael  are  most  fitly  introduced  among  the  invocations  of 
the  hymn.  They  have,  it  is  true,  long  passed  from  the 
scene  of  their  trials ;  but,  though  no  voice  of  praise  may 
rise  from  the  grave,  their  memories  remain  to  us  as  sym- 
bols of  God's  mercy  and  power.  In  thinking  of  them  we 
recall  the  example  of  men  who  trusted  in  the  Lord  and 
were  not  forsaken  —  who  were  ready  to  brave  the  most 
cruel  death  rather  than  deny  their  faith  —  and  whom  no 
tyrant  could  either  terrify  or  hurt,  because  they  were  up- 
held by  God's  protection.  Is  there  no  aid  to  devotion 
in  such  examples,  or  in  the  thoughts  that  rise  up  in  asso- 
ciation with  such  names  ?  On  the  contrary,  no  invoca- 
tion in  the  hymn  is  more  profitable  or  suggestive.  Thus, 
by  their  trusting  faith  when  living,  they  continue,  even 
though  dead,  to  praise  and  magnify  "  the  power  of  the 
Lord  for  ever." 


1 6  God  magnified  in  J  lis    Works. 

Though  all  are  ready  with  the  general  admission  that 
every  thing  in  Nature  exhibits  the  Power  and  Goodness 
of  God,  it  will  not  be  denied  that  a  little  knowledge  of 
the  way  in  which  these  are  displayed  would  give  additional 
distinctness  to  the  feeling.  Such  knowledge,  indeed,  will 
often  serve  to  change  what  is  merely  a  tame  and  pas- 
sive acquiescence  into  a  fervent  sentiment  of  adoration 
founded  on  conviction  and  experience.  Now,  if  there  be 
any  truth  in  this  remark,  it  is  surely  well  worth  while  to 
turn  our  attention  to  such  subjects.  Physical  Science  and 
Natural  History  liberally  reward  their  votaries,  for  every 
onward  step  is  fraught  with  pleasure,  and  brings  an  im- 
mediate reward  in  the  interest  with  which  it  invests  the 
common  things  around  us.  Many  of  their  most  elevating 
secrets  are  to  be  learnt  without  that  preliminary  drudgery 
which  besets  the  portals  of  some  other  sciences  :  and  an 
amount  of  knowledge,  so  moderate  as  to  be  within  the 
reach  of  every  body,  is  all  that  is  required  to  open  out  to 
us  a  clear  view  of  those  proofs  of  Power  and  Goodness 
which  cluster  round  the  verses  of  the  "  Benedicite." 

It  need  scarcely  be  remarked,  however,  that  knowledge 
of  this  kind  is  not  to  be  acquired  in  church,  but  by  pre- 
vious preparation  at  home  and  in  our  walks.  The  ofter-^ 
ing  up  of  praise  within  the  sanctuary  exacts  our  whole 
mind  and  our  whole  heart,  and  our  thoughts  at  such  mo- 
ments must  not  be  encouraged  to  wander  away  in  search 
of  illustrations  of  the  truths  we  are  uttering.  Experience 
will  soon  bring  to  us  the  welcome  proof  that  the  thought- 
ful consideration  of  God's  works  which  is  based  upon  a 
knowledge  of  their  nature  and  of  the  Power  and  Good- 
ness they  display,  creates  a  condition  of  mind  so  impressi- 
ble that  every  solemn  allusion  to  them  instantly  and  with- 
out conscious  effort  raises  feelings  of  adoration  in  unison 
with  the  subject.  The  details  of  the  wonderful  perfec- 
tions by  which  these  feelings  were  originally  developed 
may  be  absent,  or  even  forgotten,  but  the  deep  devotional 


God  magnified  in  his   Works.  17 

impress  with  which  they  once  imbued  the  understanding 
never  fades  away.  They  who  have  acquired  this  sensibil- 
ity to  those  hymns  of  praise  which  are  ever  ascending 
from  all  God's  works  around,  have  found  an  aid  to  adora- 
tion, the  value  of  which  is  known  and  thankfully  acknowl- 
edged by  themselves,  but  which  must  sometimes  appear 
like  extravagance  or  affectation  to  others  who  have  never 
taken  any  pains  to  cherish  it.  It  is  only  by  such  means 
that  our  sentiments  can  be  brought  into  full  harmony  with 
the  spirit  of  the  hymn.  But  when  the  words  of  the 
"  Benedicite  "  fall  upon  ears  thus  prepared  by  the  under- 
standing and  the  heart,  they  speak  the  clearest  language, 
and  stand  forth  as  the  emblems  of  Power,  Wisdom,  and 
Goodness. 

All  Thy  works  praise  Thee,  0  Lord.  —  Ps.  cxlv. 

Of  the  fitness  of  the  natural  objects  around  us  to 
awaken  feelings  of  devotion  there  can  be  no  doubt.  All 
things  are  wonderfully  made  and  wonderfully  adjusted  to 
each  other  ;  and  we  alone,  among  created  beings,  have 
been  endowed  with  faculties  enabling  us  to  recognize  the 
perfections  they  exhibit,  on  purpose  that  we  might  praise 
God  by  the  feelings  they  rouse  within  us.  The  Psalms  of 
David  are  filled  with  beautiful  illustrations  to  show  how 
natural  objects  serve  as  aids  to  adoration,  and  it  may  be 
safely  asserted  that  a  Book  of  Praise  was  never  yet  writ- 
ten in  which  they  were  not  thus  used.  If  there  be  any 
skeptic  who  believes  not  in  this  power,  let  him  make  trial. 
Experience  will  soon  convert  him,  and  draw  an  answer  of 
thankful  consciousness  from  his  own  heart. 

The  object  of  this  book  is  to  offer  a  series  of  illustra- 
tions of  the  Beneficence  and  Greatness  of  God,  as  they 
are  sup-oested  to  our  minds  by  the  words  of  the  "  Benedi- 
cite."  A  few  of  the  verses,  it  will  be  noticed,  are  omitted, 
not  because  they  are  inapplicable  to  devotion,,  but  be- 
cause they  do  not  come  within  range  of  that  kind  of  illus- 


1 8  God  magnified  in  his   Works. 

tration  to  which  I  have  thought  it  proper  to  confine  my- 
self. But,  within  this  limitation,  enough  and  more  than 
enough  remains  for  the  work  on  hand.  It  may,  indeed, 
be  truly  said  that  he  who  undertakes  to  select  from  the 
many  fields  of  Nature  the  most  striking  examples  of  God's 
Providence  will  find  his  chief  difficulty  to  arise  from  the 
"  embarrassment  of  riches."  He  is  like  a  man  wander- 
ing in  a  gallery  where  all  is  truth  and  perfection,  and  who 
has  rashly  engaged  to  single  out  that  only  which  is  pre- 
eminently the  best.  A  feeling  of  this  kind  weighs  on  me 
now,  for,  while  illustrations  abound  on  every  side,  I  fear 
lest  I  should  select  some  examples  where  others  ought  to 
have  been  preferred,  —  not  because  they  were  more  won- 
derful or  more  perfect,  but  because  they  were  better 
adapted  for  the  purpose  here  intended.  Let  me  hasten  to 
disclaim  all  pretension  to  instruct  the  learned  or  the  sci- 
entific. It  becomes  me  here  rather  to  acknowledge  with 
gratitude  my  own  obligations  to  them.  It  would,  indeed, 
be  difficult  to  treat  satisfactorily  of  the  various  matters 
contained  in  this  book  without  seeking  to  profit  by  the 
labors  of  the  Herschels,  Whewell,  Mauiy,  Guillemin, 
Lardner,  Owen,  Darwin,  and  many  others  whose  names 
are  well  known  as  the  authors  of  standard  works.  I  know 
beforehand  that  the  subject,  for  its  own  sake,  will  be  re- 
ceived with  sympathy  by  those  whose  delight  it  is  ever  to 
be  on  the  outlook  for  the  suggestion  of  trains  of  thought 
which  lead  them  to  magnify  God  in  His  Works  ;  but  it 
would  be  even  more  gratifying  to  me  if  I  should  succeed 
in  awakening  an  interest  in  the  "  Benedicite  "  in  some 
who,  perhaps,  may  not  have  hitherto  considered  the  ob- 
jects therein  invoked  under  the  aspect  here  given  to 
them.  Soon  will  they  make  the  precious  discovery  that 
they  cannot  add  a  line  to  their  knowledge  of  the  natural 
objects  around  them  without  at  the  same  time  adding  to 
the  distinctness  of  the  feeling  with  which  they  join  in  the 
words  of  the  hymn. 


God  magnified  in  his    Works.  19 

While  endeavoring  to  illustrate  the  effect  of  a  little 
knowledge  in  developing  that  sensitiveness  to  the  divine 
Power  and  Mercy  which,  while  it  softens  the  heart,  beck- 
ons us  onward  to  that  worship  which  springs  from  the 
contemplation  of  natural  objects,  I  wish  carefully  to  guard 
against  every  appearance  of  desiring  to  elevate  this  means 
above  its  proper  place.  We  are  here  dealing  with  the 
things  that  belong  to  the  kingdom  of  nature,  and  not  with 
those  pertaining  to  the  kingdom  of  grace  ;  and,  if  need 
be,  it  must  often  be  recalled  that  how  praiseworthy  soever 
this  meditative  worship  may  be,  it  can  never  supersede, 
and  must  always  be  subordinate  to,  those  higher  motives 
for  worship  which  are  unfolded  in  the  doctrines  of  Chris- 
tianity. The  one  is  essential  and  must  be  done  ;  while 
all  that  can  be  said  of  the  other  is  that  it  is  both  fitting 
and  profitable,  and  ought  not  to  be  left  undone.  God  has 
graciously  endowed  us  with  faculties  to  comprehend  His 
Works,  and  with  every  new  appreciation  of  His  design 
we  seem  to  be  taken  more  and  more  into  His  confidence. 
Shall  we  then  neglect  or  throw  away  this  inestimable  privi- 
lege, or  can  we  ever  hope  to  employ  our  talents  in  a  no- 
bler or  more  elevating  purpose?  Experience  will  prove 
that  God  blesses  our  efforts  to  trace  out  the  perfection  of 
His  Works  with  an  immediate  reward,  for  the  pursuit  is 
replete  with  rational  pleasure  no  less  than  with  moral  im- 
provement. 

0  praise  the  Lord  with  me,  let  us  magnify  His  name  together. -- 

Ps.  xxxiv. 


THE   HEAVENS. 


O  ye  Heavens,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise  Him,  and  magnify  Him 

for  ever. 

MONG  all  the  sights  the  eye  can  look  upon  noth- 
ing is  comparable  to  the  Heavens  for  the  senti- 
ment with  which  they  charm  the  mind.  The  lan- 
guage they  speak  comes  to  us  from  remote,  mysterious 
worlds  •  but,  though  it  may  be  imperfectly  understood,  it 
is  at  least  universally  felt.  The  great  and  the  little  —  the 
civilized   man  and  the  savage,  the   philosopher  and  the 

rustic all  feel  their  influence,  and  are  from  time  to  time 

irresistibly  drawn  toward  them  by  mingled  emotions  of 
admiration,  gratitude,  and  awe,  such  as  none  of  the  other 
features  of  Nature  can  excite  in  an  equal  degree.  No 
wonder,  therefore,  that  the  Three  Children,  intent  on  call- 
ing up  every  image  by  which  God's  Goodness  to  men  and 
their  dependence  on  Him  could  be  depicted,  should  first 
of  all  turn  toward  the  Heaverfs.  Again  and  again  the 
grand  features  of  the  firmament  are  passed  in  review,  and 
invoked  with  fervor.  In  the  eager  intensity  of  their  feel- 
ings order  and  method  are  but  little  regarded,  and  they 
pour  forth  their  thoughts  in  song  as  these  come  welling  up 
in  their  minds.  So  may  it  happily  sometimes  be  with 
ourselves  ;  and  in  those  moments  when  we  too  are  drawn 
with  desire  to  "  bless,  praise,  and  magnify  the  Lord  "  for 
the  visible  works  of  Creation,  we  shall  surely  find  that  the 
Heavens  suggest  to  our  conception  the  grandest  symbols 
of  His  power  and  goodness. 

So    strongly,  however,  is  the  idea   of  the  "  incompre- 


The  Heavens.  21 

hensible  "  associated  by  many  with  the  mysteries  of  the 
firmament,  that  they  are  habitually  prone  to  regard  the 
teachings  of  astronomers  as  little  else  than  scientific 
guess-work.  Nevertheless,  the  best  intellects  in  all  coun- 
tries assure  us,  and  demonstrate  before  our  eyes,  that, 
within  certain  limits,  Astronomy  is  the  most  exact  and  per- 
fect of  sciences,  and  that,  even  when  it  deals  with  dis- 
tances and  magnitudes  which  are  practically  inconceivable, 
its  conclusions,  though  often  claiming  to  be  approximative 
only,  have  yet  no  affinity  whatever  with  guess-work.  Let 
such  skeptics  think  of  the  certainty  with  which  sidereal 
events  are  predicted  beforehand.  Let  them  reflect  on  the 
evidence  of  the  most  exact  knowledge  of  the  heavenly 
bodies  involved  in  the  calculation  of  eclipses,  in  fixing  the 
very  moment  when  the  moon's  dark  outline  shall  begin  to 
creep  over  the  sun's  bright  disk,  or  in  predicting  the  in- 
stant when  a  planet's  light  shall  be  extinguished  behind 
our  satellite.  How  wonderful  the  tracking  of  a  comet's 
wanderings  —  millions  of  miles  beyond  the  far-off  region 
of  Uranus,  and  foretelling  the  time  of  its  return  after  long 
years  of  absence  !  Do  not  these,  and  a  thousand  other 
equally  wonderful  feats,  attest  both  the  soundness  of  the 
principles  on  which  the  astronomer  works,  and  the  reason- 
ableness of  receiving  his  assurances  with  trust,  even 
though  it  may  be  impossible  for  more  than  a  few  gifted 
minds  to  follow  the  calculations  on  which  they  are  based  ? 
Did  any  of  our  readers  ever  happen  to  bestow  a  glance 
upon  the  "  Nautical  Almanac  "  ?  It  is  published  by  the 
British  Government  at  a  very  cheap  rate,  in  order  to  facil- 
itate its  entrance  into  the  cabin  of  every  sea-going  ship. 
Ostensibly  it  is  a  voluminous  collection  of  dry  figures  and 
curious  signs  running  on  interminably  page  after  page  \ 
but,  in  reality,  it  is  a  yearly  record  of  the  soundness  of  the 
teachings  of  Astronomy,  and  of  the  blessings  they  bring 
to  man.  Fxlipses  of  the  sun  and  moon,  of  Jupiter's  satel- 
lites, sidereal  positions  and  distances,  and  a  multitude  of 


22  The  Heavens. 

other  heavenly  events  and  matters  of  the  last  importance 
to  navigation,  are  there  foretold  with  the  most  rigid  exact- 
ness. Every  single  figure  and  every  single  sign  represents 
an  important  sidereal  fact,  and  is  charged  with  a  message 
from  the  skies  for  our  guidance.  On  the  trackless  ocean 
this  book  is  the  mariner's  trusted  friend  and  counsellor, 
and  daily  and  nightly  its  revelations  bring  safety  to  ships 
in  all  parts  of  the  world.  The  acquisition  of  such  rare 
and  precious  knowledge  —  this  mapping  out  beforehand, 
almost  to  a  hair-breadth,  the  exact  order  and  track  in 
which  the  heavenly  bodies  will  run  their  course  through 
space,  and  the  precise  relative  position  they  will  occupy  at 
any  given  moment  when  they  can  be  seen  in  any  part  of 
the  world  —  is  a  fact  which,  if  applicable  to  the  current 
year  only,  might  well  fill  us  with  astonishment.  But  it 
becomes  infinitely  more  marvelous  when  we  reflect  that 
the  "  Nautical  Almanac  "  is  regularly  published  three  or 
four  years  in  advance,  in  order  that  the  mariner,  during 
the  most  distant  voyages  which  commerce  can  exact,  may 
never  be  without  his  faithful  monitor.  It  is  truly  some- 
thing more  than  a  mere  book  —  it  is  an  emblem  of  the 
Power  and  Order  of  the  Creator  in  the  government  of  the 
Heavens,  and  a  monument  of  the  extent  to  which  His 
creatures  are  privileged  to  unravel  the  laws  of  the  Uni- 
verse ! 

The  year  1846  will  ever  be  memorable  for  having  wit- 
nessed one  of  the  most  striking  illustrations  of  the  truth 
of  Astronomy.  Few  can  have  forgotten  the  astonishment 
with  which  the  discovery  of  the  planet  Neptune  was  then 
received,  or  the  fact  that  it  was  due  not  to  a  lucky  or  ac- 
cidental pointing  of  the  telescope  toward  a  particular 
quarter  of  the  Heavens,  but  to  positive  calculations  worked 
out  in  the  closet;  thus  proving  that,  before  the  planet  was 
seen  by  the  eye,  it  had  been  already  grasped  by  the  mind. 
The  history  of  its  finding  was  a  triumph  of  human  intel- 
lect.    The    distant    Uranus  —  a   planet    hitherto   orderly 


Hie  Heavens. 


23 


and  correct  —  begins  to  show  unusual  movements  in  its 
orbit.  It  is,  somehow,  not  exactly  in  the  spot  where  ac- 
cording to  the  best  calculations  it  ought  to  have  been,  and 
the  whole  astronomical  world  is  thrown  into  perplexity. 
Two  mathematicians,  as  yet  but  little  known  to  fame,  liv- 
ing far  apart  in  different  countries  and  acting  independ- 
ently of  each  other,  concentrate  the  force  of  their  pene- 
trating intellects  to  find  out  the  cause.  The  most  obvious 
way  of  accounting  for  the  event  was  to  have  inferred  that 
some  error  in  previous  computations  had  occurred  ;  and, 
in  a  matter  so  difficult,  so  abstruse,  and  so  far  off,  what 
could  have  been  more  probable  or  more  pardonable  ? 
But  these  astronomers  knew  that  the  laws  of  gravity  were 
fixed  and  sure,  and  that  figures  truly  based  on  them  could 
not  deceive.  By  profound  calculations  each  arrives  at 
the  conclusion  that  nothing  can  account  for  the  "  pertur- 
bation "  except  the  disturbing  influence  of  some  hitherto 
unknown  mass  of  matter  exerting  its  attraction  in  a  cer- 
tain quarter  of  the  Heavens.  So  implicit,  so  undoubting 
is  the  faith  of  Leverrier  in  the  truth  of  his  deductions, 
that  he  requests  a  brother  astronomer  in  Berlin  to  look 
out  for  this  mass  at  a  special  point  in  space  on  a  particu- 
lar night ;  and  there,  sure  enough,  the  disturber  immedi- 
ately discloses  himself,  and  soon  shows  his  title  to  be 
admitted  into  the  steady  and  orderly  rank  of  his  fellow- 
planets.  The  coincidence  of  two  astronomers,  Leverrier 
and  our  countryman  Adams,*  arriving  at  this  discovery 
through  the  agency  of  figures  based  on  physical  observa- 
tion, precludes  every  idea  of  guess-work  ;  while  such  was 
the  agreement  between  their  final  deductions  that  the 
point  of  the  Heavens  fixed  upon  by  both  as  the  spot 
where  the  disturber  lay  was  almost  identical.  "  Such  a 
discovery,"  says  Arago,  "  is  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
manifestations  of  the  exactitude  of  the  system  of  modem 
astronomers." 

*  Of  Cambridge,  England. 


24  The  Heavens. 

As  the  Heavens  have  irresistibly  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  mankind  in  all  ages,  Astronomy  naturally  came  to 
be  the  Father  of  sciences,  and  it  was  from  remotest  times 
cultivated  with  considerable  success  by  the  Chaldeans  on 
the  plains  of  Mesopotamia.  Doubtless  the  Three  He- 
brews at  Nebuchadnezzar's  court  were  well  versed  in  the 
science  of  their  day,  but,  whatever  the  amount  of  that 
knowledge  might  have  been,  it  must  have  been  extremely 
imperfect  when  measured  by  modern  standards.  Com- 
paratively speaking  they  knew  but  little  of  the  grandeur 
of  the  Heavens  ;  and  yet  that  little  amply  sufficed  to 
point  with  its  imagery  the  fervor  of  their  worship.  Since 
then,  by  God's  blessing,  the  range  of  Astronomy  has  been 
widened,  its  views  soar  higher  and  probe  deeper,  its 
truths  are  better  comprehended,  its  marvelous  adjust- 
ments have  been  analyzed  and  traced  more  clearly  upon 
the  understanding.  Shall  we,  then,  with  our  better  knowl- 
edge, find  less  aid  in  it  to  rouse  our  adoration  than  did 
the  Three  Children  of  old,  and  shall  the  more  perfect 
view  of  the  Heavens  now  vouchsafed  to  us  fall  cold  and 
resultless  upon  our  hearts  ?  If  this,  indeed,  be  the  case, 
are  we  not  treating  with  neglect  an  aid  to  adoration  which 
God  himself  has  spread  out  before  our  eyes,  and  are  we 
not  in  some  degree  frustrating  that  purpose  of  praise  and 
glorification  for  which  both  they»and  we  were  created  ? 

Astronomy  is  without  question  the  grandest  of  sciences. 
It  deals  with  masses,  distances,  and  velocities  which  in 
their  immensity  belong  specially  to  itself  alone,  and  of 
which  the  mere  conception  transcends  the  utmost  stretch 
of  our  finite  faculties.  In  no  other  branch  of  science  is 
the  limited  grasp  of  our  intellect  more  forcibly  brought 
home  to  us.  Yet,  though  baffled  in  the  effort  to  rise  to 
the  level  of  its  requirements,  our  strivings  are  by  no 
means  profitless.  Is  it  not  truly  a  precious  privilege  to 
be  able  to  trace,  imperfectly  though  it  may  be,  the  hand 
of  the  All-mighty  Architect  in  these  his  grandest  works, 


The  Heavens.  25 

and  to  obtain  by  this  means  a  broader  consciousness  of 
his  Omnipotence  ?  In  raising  our  wonder  and  admiration 
other  sciences  need  the  help  of  details  and  expositions, 
but  in  Astronomy  the  mere  enunciation  of  a  few  measure- 
ments suffices  to  elevate  our  ideas  of  His  Power  to  the 
highest  point  to  which  man's  finite  faculties  can  carry 
them. 

The  expense  of  suitable  instruments,  the  preliminary 
study,  the  persevering  patience,  and  the  long  night  vigils 
that  are  necessary  will  probably  always  prevent  the  higher 
walks  of  scientific  Astronomy  from  becoming  a  popular 
pursuit  \  nevertheless,  we  earnestly  recommend  all  who 
can  to  seize  every  opportunity  that  may  fall  in  their  way 
of  having  a  thoughtful  look  at  the  Heavens  through  a 
good  telescope.  Their  reward  will  be  immediate.  Even 
were  they  to  take  their  peep  with  feelings  not  more  ele- 
vated than  those  with  which  folks  at  a  fair  look  at  a  rare 
show,  the  glance  would  bring  some  profit ;  but,  if  they  be 
prepared  beforehand  with  their  "  few  grains  of  knowl- 
edge," how  useful  and  improving  the  survey  becomes. 
The  first  look  at  the  Heavens  through  a  good  telescope 
forms  an  epoch  in  our  life.  Our  faith  in  the  realities  of 
Astronomy  passes  with  sudden  bound  from  theory  into 
practice ;  planets  and  stars  become  henceforth  distinct 
and  solid  existences  in  our  minds  ;  our  doubts  vanish,  and 
our  belief  settles  into  conviction.  We  behold  the  myste- 
rious Moon  of  our  childhood  mapped  into  brilliant  moun- 
tain-peaks, and  dark  precipices,  and  softly  lighted  plains  ; 
we  see  Jupiter  shining  like  another  fair  Luna,  with  attend- 
ant satellites  moving  round  him  in  their  well-known 
paths  ;  or  we  turn  with  admiration  to  Saturn  encircled  by 
his  famous  ring,  with  outlines  as  distinct  as  if  that  glorious 
creation  lay  but  a  few  miles  off.  Perhaps  we  may  behold 
the  beauteous  Venus  shining  with  resplendent  circular 
disk,  or  curiously  passing  through  her  many  phases  in 
mimic  rivalry  of  the  Moon.    Or,  leaving  these  near  neigh- 


26  The  Heavens. 

bors  far  behind,  we  may  penetrate  more  deeply  into 
space,  and  mark  how  the  brightest  flashing  stars  are  re- 
duced to  a  small,  round,  unmagnifiable  point.  A  few 
evening  explorations  in  propitious  weather  will  suffice  to 
grave  all  these  objects  and  many  other  precious  recollec- 
tions in  our  minds  for  ever.  Then  is  realized,  better  than 
at  any  previous  moment  of  our  existence,  the  power  of  the 
Lord  of  Creation. 

While  Astronomy,  beyond  all  other  sciences,  thus  lifts 
up  man's  conception  of  God's  glory  as  displayed  in  His 
works,  it  is  no  less  calculated  to  bring  home  to  him  the 
"  littleness  "  of  his  own  world  amid  the  great  creations  of 
the  Universe.  The  stupendous  truths  at  which  the  finger 
of  Astronomy  is  ever  pointing  ought  to  keep  uppermost  in 
his  heart  the  wholesome  lesson  of  humility.  Well  may 
the  oft-told  interjection  rise  to  his  lips,  Lord,  what  is  man 
that  Thou  art  mindful  of  him  !  Such  thoughts,  indeed, 
bring  with  them  both  humility  and  exultation.  Man's 
habitation  is  in  very  truth  a  mere  speck  in  the  Universe, 
dwarfed,  and  thrown  into  the  shade  by  nearly  all  the 
worlds  around  it,  and  he  himself  is  a  mere  atom  creeping 
through  his  brief  existence  upon  its  surface.  His  high 
place  in  Creation  is  won  by  the  loftiness  of  his  moral 
nature,  and,  above  all,  by  the  destiny  that  awaits  him. 
Apart  from  this  revelation,  m*an  and  his  earth  are  but  a 
grain  of  dust  among  the  myriads  of  worlds  that  people  the 
infinity  of  space. 

Therefore   shall  every  good  man  sing  of  Thy  praise  without  ceasing.  — 

Ps.  XXX. 


SUN  AND  MOON 

Oye  Sun  and  Moon,  bless  ye  the  Lord ;  praise  Him,  and  magnify 

Him  for  e<ver. 

HERE  are  not  a  few  in  this  world  who  habitually 
receive  God's  blessings  so  much  as  a  matter  of 
course  that  they  are  scarcely  conscious  of  any 
active  feeling  of  gratitude  in  regard  to  them.  The  very- 
regularity  and  profusion  with  which  these  blessings  are 
showered  on  all  alike  seems  to  have  the  effect  of  deaden- 
ing the  sense  of  individual  obligation.  A  general  admis- 
sion of  thankfulness  may  occasionally  be  made  at  church 
or  in  the  closet,  but  there  is  a  want  of  that  abiding  con- 
sciousness of  it  with  which  we  ought  to  be  imbued,  as 
well  as  of  that  frequent  pondering  upon  details  which,  by 
illustrating  the  dependence  of  every  creature  upon  God, 
causes  the  heart  to  swell  with  grateful  adoration.  Such 
thoughts  never  fail  to  improve  our  moral  nature  by  bring- 
ing the  truth  home  to  us  more  and  more  that  we  are  in- 
deed God's  children. 

It  would  be  no  easy  task  for  a  thankful  mind  to  sum  up 
all  the  blessings  diffused  over  our  planet  by  the  Sun.  It 
is  the  mainspring  of  animated  Nature.  Without  its  genial 
rays  the  present  system  of  the  earth's  government  could 
not  endure,  and  life  itself  would  soon  disappear  from  the 
globe.  To  it  we  are  indebted  for  light  and  warmth  —  the 
twin  stimulants  of  vital  force  —  for  our  food  and  clothing, 
for  our  busy  days  and  rest-bringing  nights,  for  months  and 
years,  and  happy  alternations  of  the  seasons.     Its  rays,  in 


28  Sun  and  Moon, 

short,  are  intertwined  with  all  our  wants  and  comforts; 
they  gladden  the  eye  and  cheer  the  heart. 

I  will  praise  the  name  of  God  with  a  song,  and  magnify  it  with  thanks 

giving.  —  Ps.  lxix. 

The  Sun  is  the  central  pivot  of  the  solar  system,  and 
round  it  the  Earth  and  all  the  other  planets  keep  whirl' 
ing  in  elliptical  orbits.  Its  power  and  influence  —  its 
light,  heat,  and  attraction  —  reach  through  a  domain  in 
space  which  it  would  require  a  line  of  more  than  6000 
millions  of  miles  to  span.  With  the  greater  part  of  this 
wide  field  astronomers  are  familiar,  and  it  may  be  truly 
said  that  scarcely  a  man  knows  the  roads  of  his  own  parish 
with  more  exactness  than  they  do  the  highways  of  the 
skies.  Not  only  can  they  map  out  to  a  nicety  the  paths 
of  the  planets  careering  through  it  like  islands  floating  in 
a  sea  of  ether,  but  they  can  look  backward  and  tell  the 
exact  spot  where  each  globe  was  at  any  moment  of  the 
remote  past,  or  forward,  and  point  to  the  place  where 
each  will  be  found  at  any  given  moment  of  the  remote 
future. 

What  is  the  mighty  power  which  thus  maintains  such 
order  in  the  Heavens,  which  steadies  the  planets  in  their 
orbits,  and  traces  out  for  them  a  route  so  wisely  planned 
as  to  avoid  all  chances  of  collision  ?  Two  antagonistic 
forces  —  gravitation  or  attraction,  combined  with  a  cen- 
trifugal impulse  —  accomplish  the  wonderful  task.  To 
these  faithful  servants,  which  know  neither  fatigue  nor 
slumber,  God  commits  the  safety  of  the  Universe.  Let 
us  in  imagination  glance  back  to  that  far-off  time  when 
"  in  the  beginning  the  Heavens  and  the  Earth  were 
created."  Matter  having  been  prepared  sufficient,  it  may 
be,  for  the  vast  requirements  of  the  solar  system,  every 
particle  of  it  was  endowed  with  the  property  of  mutual 
attraction,  and  the  force  of  this  attraction  was  fixed  so  as 
to  act  in  a  certain  proportion  to  mass  and  distance.     In 


Sun  and  Moon. 


29 


other  words,  the  law  then  impressed  on  matter  was,  that 
attraction  should  increase  according  to  mass,  and  diminish 
according  to  the  square  of  the  distance.  The  matter  of 
the  solar  system  may  have  been  created  in  separate  por- 
tions, or  it  may  have  been  divided  into  separate  portions 
corresponding  to  the  size  of  the  different  planets ;  after 
which,  the  particles  of  each  planet,  being  as  yet  mobile, 
arranged  themselves  in  obedience  to  their  mutual  attrac- 
tion into  globes,  just  as  we  see  the  mobile  particles  of 
water  coalesce  into  a  drop,  or  as  quicksilver  runs  into 
globules.  The  Sun  was  placed  in  the  centre,  and  became 
the  pivot  of  the  whole  system,  tying  to  itself  the  different 
planets  by  the  cord  of  its  superior  attraction.  In  accord- 
ance with  the  law  just  mentioned,  this  loadstone  power 
of  the  Sun  was  the  inevitable  result  of  its  superior  mass. 

It  is  obvious  that  in  whatever  corner  of  the  Sun's  do- 
main the  planets  had  been  placed,  the  searching  power  of 
his  attraction  would  have  found  them  out,  and  would  in- 
evitably have  destroyed  them  by  dragging  them  in  upon 
himself,  had  this  tendency  not  been  counteracted  by  some 
other  influence.  Another  force,  therefore,  was  established 
—  the  centrifugal.  The  Great  Architect,  "weighing  in 
His  hand,"  as  the  Psalmist  figuratively,  and  yet  almost 
literally  expresses  it,  the  mass  of  each  orb,  projected  it 
on  its  course  through  space  with  exactly  that  force  and  at 
exactly  that  angle  which  was  needed  to  counterbalance 
the  attractive  power  of  the  Sun  •  and  the  obedient  globe, 
thus  seized  upon  by  the  two  balanced  forces,  was  com- 
pelled to  move  onward  in  a  path  representing  the  diago- 
nal between  both.  And  as  these  forces  are  permanent, 
the  movements  of  the  Earth  and  of  the  other  planets  must 
be  permanent  also  ;  nor  can  any  thing  stop  the  working 
of  this  most  perfect  machine  except  the  Word  which  cre- 
ated it.  % 

The  voice  of  the  Lord  is  mighty  in  operation.  —  Ps.  xxix. 


30  Sun  and  Moon, 

How  shall  we  mentally  gauge  the  distance  or  estimate 
the  size  of  the  master-centre  which  thus  holds  all  the 
planets  in  his  grasp  ?  The  immensity  of  both  confounds 
our  efforts.  When  we  are  told  that  the  Sun  is  separated 
from  us  by  a  chasm  of  nearly  92  millions  of  miles,  that 
its  diameter  is  850,000  miles,  and  its  circumference  about 
2,671,000  miles,  we  can  realize  nothing  beyond  a  vague 
idea  of  vastness,  and  we  are  forced  to  look  round  for  other 
standards  to  help  our  laggard  faculties.  From  the  com- 
paratively small  size  of  his  disk  when  viewed  from  the 
Earth,  we  catch  the  idea  how  enormous  that  distance  must 
be  which  is  able  thus  to  dwarf  it  down.  It  is  384  times  as 
far  off  as  the  Moon.  A  cannon-ball  fired  from  the  earth 
and  keeping  up  its  velocity,  would  not  reach  it  in  less  than 
22  years.  "A  railway  train,"  Brayley  observes,  "at  the 
average  speed  of  thirty  miles  an  hour,  continuously  main- 
tained, would  arrive  at  the  Moon  in  eleven  months,  but 
would  not  reach  the  Sun  in  less  than  about  352  years  ;  so 
that  if  such  a  train  had  been  started  in  the  year  15 12,  the 
third  year  of  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  it  would  only  have 
reached  the  sun  in  1864." 

The  Sun's  diameter  is  equally  astounding.  It  exceeds 
by  107  times  the  mean  diameter  of  the  Earth.  It  is  nearly 
four  times  greater  than  the  radius  of  the  Moon's  orbit 
round  the  Earth  ;  so  that  if  the  Earth  were  placed  in  the 
centre  of  the  Sun,  the  Moon's  orbit,  so  far  from  extending 
to  the  circumference  of  the  Sun,  would  scarcely  reach  to 
within  187,000  miles  of  its  surface.  The  locomotive  just 
mentioned,  on  its  arrival  at  the  Sun,  "  would  be  rather 
more  than  a  year  and  a  half  in  reaching  the  Sun's  centre, 
three  years  and  a  half  in  passing  across  the  Sun,  suppos- 
ing it  were  tunneled  through,  and  ten  years  and  one  eighth 
in  going  round  it."  "  Now  the  same  train  would  attain 
the  centre  of  the  Earth  in  five  days  and  a  half,  pass  through 
it  in  eleven  days,  and  go  round  it  in  thirty-seven  days." 
The  bulk  of  the  Sun  is  not  less  than  600  times  as  great 


Sun  and  Moon. 


3i 


as  that  of  all  the  planets  put  together  ;  and  it  would  take 
1,405,000  Earths  to  make  a  globe  of  equal  magnitude. 

Great  difference  of  opinion  prevails  among  astronomers 
respecting  the  physical  condition  of  the  Sun,  and  both  its 
surface  and  encircling  atmospheres  are  full  of  mysteri- 
ous grandeur.  Still,  although  not  so  well  known  as  the 
planets,  many  points  of  interest  have  been  partially  made 
out.  Its  surface  is  much  more  rugged  than  that  of  our 
planet,  with  heights  and  clefts  somewhat  on  the  scale  of 
its  vast  magnitude.  A  mountain  in  the  Sun,  however,  in 
order  to  bear  the  same  proportion  to  it  as  our  highest 
Himalayan  peaks  do  to  our  Earth,  would  require  to  attain 
an  altitude  of  600  miles  :  now  none  of  its  mountains  have 
been  estimated  at  more  than  200  miles  high.  The  moun- 
tains on  the  Earth  have  been  compared  to  the  inequalities 
upon  the  rind  of  an  orange,  while  those  of  the  Sun  would 
in  their  proportion  more  resemble  the  tubercles  of  a  pine- 
apple. 

Most  astronomers  consider  the  Sun  to  be  an  incandes- 
cent body  encircled  by  two  atmospheres.  Its  temperature 
probably  varies  in  the  different  parts  of  its  immensity,  but, 
where  most  intense,  it  appears  to  transcend  any  thing  we 
can  conceive.  Like  the  distances  and  velocities  and  nearly 
all  else  that  relates  to  the  heavenly  orbs,  the  degree  of  the 
Sun's  heat  overtasks  our  power  to  imagine,  and  we  should 
require  for  its  comprehension  some  new  standard  of  meas- 
urement. The  minimum  of  solar  temperature,  indeed, 
seems  to  begin  far  above  the  point  where  terrestrial  tem- 
perature leaves  off.  According  to  one  philosopher  the 
heat  is  "  seven  times  as  great  as  that  of  the  vivid  ignition 
of  the  fuel  in  the  strongest  blast  furnace  ;  "  while  another, 
after  a  careful  series  of  experiments,  estimates  it  at  nearly 
13  millions  of  degrees  of  Fahrenheit !  To  aid  us  in  ap- 
preciating this  temperature,  or  rather  to  show  us  how  im- 
possible it  is  for  us  even  to  conceive  it,  it  may  be  borne 
in   mind  that  cast-iron  requires  for  fusion  a  heat  which 


32  Sun  and  Moon. 

amounts  only  to  2786  degrees,  and  that  the  oxy-hydrogen 
flame  —  one  of  the  hottest  known  —  does  not  much  ex- 
ceed 140000  Fahrenheit,  which  is  scarcely  one  thousandth 
part  of  the  temperature  here  ascribed  to  the  Sun. 

Of  the  two  atmospheres  encircling  the  Sun,  that  which 
is  nearest  its  surface  is  considered  to  be  nonluminous, 
while  the  other  floats  upon  it  and  forms  the  "  photo- 
sphere "  which  we  see  in  looking  at  the  Sun's  bright  disk. 
From  this  photosphere,  as  well  as,  probably,  from  the  sur- 
face of  the  Sun  itself,  are  radiated  the  heat  and  light  which 
are  to  vivify  the  planets  of  the  solar  system.  Flame-like 
masses  —  some  computed  to  be  150,000  miles  in  length  — 
are  piled  upon  or  overlap  each  other,  and  sweep  onward 
in  constant  agitation,  like  mountain-billows  of  living  fire. 
Although  the  light  afforded  by  this  furnace  pales  that  of 
every  other  luminary,  its  amount  has  been  approximately 
ascertained,  for  the  purpose,  as  we  shall  soon  see,  of  serv- 
ing as  a  standard  to  astronomers  when  estimating  the  dis- 
tances of  the  stars  by  means  of  the  light  they  evolve. 
Thus  Wollaston  calculated  that  20  millions  of  stars  as 
bright  as  Sirius,  or  rather  more  than  800,000  full  moons, 
would  be  required  in  order  to  shed  upon  the  Earth  an  illu- 
mination equal  to  that  of  the  Sun.  Another  estimate 
makes  sunlight  equal  to  5570  wax  candles  held  at  a  dis- 
tance of  only  one  foot  from* an  object. 

Let  us  now  turn  our  back  upon  the  Sun,  which  for  the 
sake  of  comparison  may  be  represented  by  a  globe  two 
feet  in  diameter,  and  let  us  in  imagination  wing  our  way 
across  the  space  filled  by  the  solar  system.  A  short  flight 
of  37  millions  of  miles  brings  us  to  a  world  which,  com- 
pared with  the  two-feet  globe,  is  no  bigger  than  a  grain  of 
mustard-seed,  while  it  is  so  bathed  in  the  Sun's  dazzling 
rays  that  it  is  not  easily  distinguished  when  viewed  from 
our  Earth.  This  fussy  little  planet  whirls  round  the  Sun 
at  the  tremendous  pace  of  a  hundred  thousand  miles  an 
hour,  by  which  he  proves  his  title  to  be  called  Mercury, 


Sun  and  Moon.  33 

the  "  swift-footed  "  of  mythology.  The  Sun  being  so  near 
attracts  it  with  prodigious  force,  and  to  counteract  this  de- 
structive tendency  a  corresponding  centrifugal  impulse  was 
absolutely  needed.  From  the  strength  of  these  two  an- 
tagonistic forces  its  great  velocity  naturally  results.  The 
adjustment  is  perfect.  At  a  distance  of  68  millions  of 
miles  from  the  Sun  we  behold  Venus,  the  brightest  and 
most  dazzling  of  the  heavenly  hosts.  In  comparative 
size,  she  may  be  represented  by  a  pea.  She  is  our  near- 
est neighbor  among  the  planets,  and  the  conditions  under 
which  she  exists  recall  many  of  those  amid  which  we  our- 
selves live. 

About  92  millions  of  miles  from  the  Sun  we  come  upon 
another  "pea,"  a  trifle  larger  than  the  one  representing 
Venus,  and  in  it  we  hail  our  old  familiar  mother  Earth. 
Here  we  shall  not  now  linger,  but  passing  onward  some 
50  millions  of  miles  we  are  attracted  by  the  well-known 
ruddy  glow  of  Mars,  —  an  appearance  which  may  depend 
either  on  the  refraction  of  light  in  its  atmosphere,  resem- 
bling what  we  ourselves  often  see  at  sunset,  or  on  the  pre- 
vailing color  of  its  soil,  which  may  be  as  highly  tinted  as 
our  "  old  red  sandstone."  The  comparative  size  is  that 
of  a  pin's  head.  Mars  is  a  planet  that  has  lived  down  a 
very  bad  character.  For  ages  every  star-poet,  astrologer, 
and  almanac-maker  had  an  ill  word  to  say  about  him, 
and  all  sorts  of  evil  things,  including  "  manslaughter, 
byrnings  of  houses,  and  warres,"  were  ascribed  to  his  cross 
nature.  But  truth  has  at  length  prevailed,  and  he  is  now 
established  as  an  orderly  member  of  the  solar  company. 
His  mean  orbital  speed  is  54,000  miles  an  hour — nearly 
our  own  pace  —  but,  as  he  takes  twice  as  much  time  to 
run  round  the  Sun  as  we  do,  his  year  is  consequently 
twice  as  long.  Casting  a  glance  behind  we  are  reminded 
of  the  distance  that  now  separates  us  from  the  Sun  by  the 
perceptible  waning  of  his  light. 

We  next  spread  our  wings  for  a  very  long  flight.  In 
3 


34 


Sun  and  Moon. 


passing  through  the  "  asteroid  "  zone  of  solar  space,  about 
260  millions  of  miles  from  the  Sun,  we  may  chance  to  fall 
in  with  some  worlds  so  small  that  a  locomotive  could 
travel  round  them  in  a  few  hours.  We  know  not  very 
much  about  them  except  that  their  ways  are  eccentric  and 
mysterious.  They  want  the  smooth  round  outline  of  the 
old  planets.  Their  rugged  and  fragmentary  aspect  sug- 
gests that  they  may  be  the  mere  ruins  of  some  mighty 
parent-planet,  shattered  into  pieces  by  the  Word  of  the 
Architect,  and  skillfully  stowed  away  in  space,  so  as  to 
harmonize  with  the  nice  balancings  of  the  solar  system. 

At  length  the  shores  of  huge  Jupiter  are  reached  at  a 
distance  of  nearly  500   millions  of  miles  from    the    Sun. 
To  carry  on  the  comparison,  he  is  a  "  small  orange  "  to 
the  "  pea"  of  our  Earth,  or  to  the  two-feet  globe  that  rep- 
resents the  Sun.     His   orbit  is  a  path  3000    millions  of 
miles  long,  which  he  accomplishes  in  an  "  annual  "  period 
of  nearly    12    of  our   years.     The  Sun's    light   has    now 
shrunk  considerably,  but  four  brilliant  moons  or  satellites, 
one  or  more  of  which  are  always  "  full,"  help  to  afford 
some  compensation.     These  moons,  distant  though  they 
be  from  our  Earth,  are  not  without  their  use  to  man,  and 
there  is  hardly  a  well-informed  mariner   that  leaves  our 
shores  who  cannot  occasionally  turn  them  to  account  in 
settling  his  position  at  sea.  *  The   principle  is  extremely 
simple.     The  exact  moment  when  one  of  these  moons  is 
eclipsed  behind  Jupiter's  disk  has  to  be  noted,  by  chro- 
nometer rated  to  Greenwich  time,  and  by  a  reference  to 
the  "  Nautical  Almanac  "  it  may  be  compared  with  the  hour 
at  which  the  same  event  is  timed   for  Greenwich.     The 
difference  in  time  will  give  the  longitude,  4  minutes  being 
allowed  for  each  degree.     If  the  eclipse  be  in  advance  of 
Greenwich  time,  the  ship  is   to  the    east  of  that   place  ; 
and  to  the  west  of  it  in  the  contrary  case.     Thus  the  good 
Lord  has  combined  the  lighting  up  of  this  far-off  planet 
with  a  blessing  to  the  inhabitants  of  our  Earth. 


Sun  a?id  Moon.  35 

Before  we  arrive  at  Saturn,  in  our  "  outward-bound  " 
course,  we  have  to  pass  through  a  space  nearly  equal  to 
the  distance  of  Jupiter  from  the  Sun.  We  are  now  more 
than  900  millions  of  miles  distant  from  the  central  pivot. 
Saturn's  comparative  size  may  be  represented  by  an 
orange  considerably  smaller  than  the  last.  His  year  swal- 
lows up  almost  thirty  of  our  own.  The  Sun,  though 
hardly  giving  one  ninetieth  part  of  the  light  which  we  re- 
ceive, is  still  equal  to  300  full  moons,  and  is  at  least  suf- 
ficient for  vision,  and  all  the  necessary  purposes  of  life. 
No  fewer  than  eight  satellites  supplement  thew  aning  sun- 
light, besides  a  mysterious  luminous  "  ring  "  of  vast  pro- 
portions. 

Twice  as  far  away  from  the  Sun  as  Saturn,  Uranus,  rep- 
resented by  a  cherry,  plods  his  weary  way.  Although  he 
has  a  real  diameter  of  35,000  miles,  he  is  rarely  to  be  seen 
from  the  Earth  by  the  naked  eye.  His  annual  journey 
round  the  Sun  is  10,000  millions  of  miles,  and  he  con- 
sumes what  we  should  consider  a  lifetime  —  84  years  — 
in  getting  over  it.  His  nights  are  lighted  up  by  at  least 
four  moons  that  are  known,  but  several  others  probably 
exist.  The  illumination  received  from  the  Sun  even  here 
is  equal  to  several  hundred  moons.  Our  little  Earth  has 
now  faded  out  of  sight. 

Only  a  few  years  ago  Uranus  was  the  last  planetary 
station  of  our  system,  but  the  discovery  of  Neptune  in 
1846  gave  us  another  resting-place  on  the  long  journey 
into  space.  Here,  at  a  distance  of  2862  millions  of  miles 
from  the  Sun,  we  may  pause  awhile  before  entering  upon 
the  more  remote  exploration  of  the  starry  universe.  We 
are  approaching  the  frontier  regions  of  our  system,  and 
the  Sun's  light  and  the  power  of  his  attraction  are  grad- 
ually passing  away.  Between  the  shores  of  our  sun-sys- 
tem and  the  shores  of  the  nearest  star-system  lies  a  vast, 
mysterious  chasm,  in  the  adjacent  recesses  of  which  may 
still  lurk  some  undiscovered  planets,  but  into  which,  so 


36  Sun  and  Moon. 

far  as  we  yet  know,  the  wandering  comets  alone  plunge 
deeply.  We  stand  on  the  frontier  of  the  Sun's  domain, 
and  we  are  in  imagination  looking  across  one  of  those 
broad  gulfs  which,  like  impassable  ramparts,  fence  off  the 
different  systems  of  the  Universe  from  each  other.  It 
seemed  needful  that  the  Great  Architect  should  interpose 
some  such  barrier  between  the  contending  attractions  of 
the  giant  masses  of  matter  scattered  through  space  — 
that  there  should  be  a  sea  of  limitation  in  which  forces 
whose  action  might  disturb  each  other  should  die  out  and 
be  extinguished.  In  it  the  light-flood  of  our  glorious  Sun 
gets  weaker  and  weaker,  and  its  bright  disk  wastes  away 
by  distance  until  it  shines  no  bigger  than  a  twinkling  star. 
And  the  strong  chain  of  its  attraction,  which  held  with 
firm  grasp  the  planets  in  their  orbits,  after  dwindling  by 
fixed  degrees  into  a  force  that  would  not  break  a  gossa- 
mer, is  finally  dissipated  and  lost. 

It  has  been  already  stated  that  the  Earth  and  its  fel- 
low-planets are  kept  steady  in  their  orbits  by  the  exact 
adjustment  of  centrifugal  and  centripetal  forces.  They 
are  in  the  position  of  the  stone  whirled  round  in  a  sling. 
If  let  go  from  the  centre,  they  would  fly  off  into  space  ; 
if  surrendered  to  the  sole  influence  of  the  Sun's  attraction, 
they  would  inevitably  be  dragged  into  the  vortex  of  its 
flames.  As  a  curiosity  in  Astronomy,  calculations  have 
been  made  to  show  the  time  which  each  planet  would  re- 
quire for  its  fall  into  the  Sun.  Thus  it  appears  that  while 
Mercury,  the  nearest,  would  require  a  fortnight,  Uranus, 
at  a  distance  of  1820  millions  of  miles,  would  be  nearly 
15  years  in  falling  ;  while  our  Earth  would  take  64^  days 
before  it  crashed  into  the  Sun. 

Such  calculations,  however,  have  not  always  had  a 
merely  speculative  interest.  There  was  a  time,  not  so 
very  remote,  when  the  possibility,  or  rather  the  certainty, 
of  our  Earth  dashing  headlong  into  the  Sun  seemed  to 
be  only  too  well  established.     Weak  minds  were  terrified, 


Sun  and  Moon.  37 

and  even  the  soundest  astronomers  were  perplexed  at  the 
alarming  import  of  their  own  deductions.  A  hundred 
years  have  scarcely  elapsed  since  the  astronomer  Halley 
startled  the  world  by  announcing  the  existence  of  a  flaw 
in  the  construction  of  the  solar  system,  by  which  the  cer- 
tain though  distant  ruin  of  our  Earth  was  involved.  He 
was  led  to  this  supposed  discovery  by  a  comparison  of 
the  eclipses  of  his  own  time  with  those  recorded  by  Ptol- 
emy in  the  second,  and  by  Albutegnius  in  the  ninth  cen- 
tury. From  this  comparison  it  appeared  to  be  established 
that  the  mean  velocity  of  the  Earth  in  her  orbit  was  in- 
creasing. The  philosophers  of  that  day  were  puzzled, 
nor  was  the  cause  of  this  circumstance  explained  until 
Laplace  demonstrated  that  it  was  due  to  a  diminution  in 
the  eccentricity  of  the  Earth's  orbit  round  the  Sun,  pro- 
duced by  certain  perturbing  influences  in  the  planets. 
This  orbit,  as  our  readers  know,  is  elliptical,  and,  as  it 
was  proved  that  this  ellipsis  tended  to  change  into  a 
"round  "  or  circle,  at  the  rate  of  about 41  miles  annually, 
it  followed  that  a  perfectly  circular  orbit  would  be  estab- 
lished in  the  course  of  37,527  years. 

But  the  conclusion  to  which  this  discovery  led  was 
frightful.  The  sure  effect  would  be  to  draw  the  Earth 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  Sun,  until  at  length  the  centripe- 
tal would  so  overbalance  the  centrifugal  force,  that  our 
globe  would  fall  helplessly  into  it.  It  is  true,  the  lease  of 
existence  thus  given  to  the  Earth,  even  on  the  most  un- 
favorable estimate,  was  a  long  one  ;  but  its  direful  end- 
ing appalled  contemplation,  and  concentrated  upon  the 
question  the  whole  intellectual  strength  of  astronomers. 
Never  was  the  surpassing  construction  of  the  solar  sys- 
tem made  more  strikingly  manifest  than  when  Laplace 
demonstrated  that  this  "weak  point"  had  not  been 
overlooked  by  the  Great  Architect.  In  a  way  which 
cannot  be  here  explained,  but  which  has  received  the 
assent  of  all  succeeding  astronomers,  he  showed  that  the 


38  '  Sun  and  Moon, 

alteration  in  its  orbit  which  the  Earth  is  now  undergoing 
can  only  continue  up  to  a  certain  point,  and  that,  when 
this  point  is  reached,  other  planetary  influences  will  come 
into  play,  which,  by  gradually  undoing  the  work  that  has 
been  done,  will  ultimately  bring  back  the  Earth  once  more 
into  her  old  ellipsoid  orbit.  And  when  the  limit  is  again 
reached  in  the  latter  direction,  the  "  influences  "  will  again 
change,  and  a  new  progress  toward  circularity  will  re- 
commence. Thus,  so  far  from  leading  to  the  destruction 
of  our  Earth,  this  regular  oscillation  specially  provides  for 
its  unlimited  endurance ;  nor  can  any  thing  stop  the  per- 
fect machinery  of  our  solar  system,  except  the  Word  of 
the  Almighty  Artificer  who  created  it. 

He  hath  made  the  round  world  so  sure  that  it  cannot  be  moved.  — Ps.  xciii. 

In  gazing  at  our  fellow-planets,  as  on  a  clear  night  they 
stand  out  with  preeminent  brightness  among  the  twink- 
ling stars,  who  has  not  longed  to  penetrate  the  mystery 
of  their  being,  and  to  know  whether  they,  like  our  own 
Earth,  are  worlds  full  of  life  and  movement  ?  The  vast 
distance  that  intervenes  between  us  forbids  us  to  expect  a 
direct  solution  of  the  question,  for  no  instruments  we  can 
make,  or  even  hope  to  make,  will  bring  their  possible  in- 
habitants within  the  range  of  vision.  We  are  reduced, 
therefore,  to  survey  them  with  the  sifting  force  of  intel- 
lect, and  to  rest  contented  with  such  circumstantial  proof 
as  is  derived  from  a  knowledge  of  their  general  structure, 
and  the  analogies  subsisting  between  them  and  our  Earth. 

Among  our  nearest  neighbors,  Venus  is  nearly  the  size 
of  our  Earth  j  and  Mercury  and  Mars,  though  considera- 
bly smaller,  would  still  form  worlds  which,  to  our  ideas, 
would  not  in  their  magnitude  be  so  very  different  from 
our  own.  All  the  planets  revolve  in  elliptical  orbits 
round  the  Sun,  and  the  time  consumed  in  this  journey 
constitutes  their  year.  Their  polar  axis  is  not  "  straight 
up  and  down,"  but  leans  over  or  is  /'  inclined  "   to   the 


Sun  and  Moon.  39 

plane  of  their  orbit,  so  that  each  pole  is  turned  toward 
the  Sun  at  one  period  of  the  year,  and  away  from  it  at  an- 
other. .This  arrangement  insures  the  regular  alternation 
of  seasons  and  a  variety  of  climates  on  their  surface.  The 
orbital  inclination  of  Mars,  for  example,  is  much  the  same 
as  that  of  the  Earth,  and  therefore  the  relative  proportion 
of  his  seasons  must  have  a  close  resemblance  to  our  own.  » 
It  might  be  expected  under  these  circumstances  that  ice 
would  accumulate  toward  the  poles  in  winter  time,  as  on 
the  Earth,  and  accordingly  glacial  accumulations  have  not 
only  been  observed  by  astronomers,  but  it  has  been  re- 
marked that  they  occasionally  diminish  by  melting  dur- 
ing the  heats  of  summer,  while  they  increase  in  winter. 

Again,  the  planets,  like  the  Earth,  turn  round  on  their 
axes  with  perfect  regularity,  and  those  just  mentioned  do 
so  in  very  similar  periods  of  time.  Hence  all  have  their 
days  and  nights.  These  divisions  represent  in  our  minds 
intervals  mercifully  set  apart  by  Providence  for  the  wel- 
fare of  living  creatures  —  times  designedly  arranged  to 
regulate  alternate  labor  and  rest  in  beings  whose  require- 
ments in  this  respect  would  seem  to  be  analogous  to  our 
own.  Diurnal  rotation,  moreover,  insures  to  each  planet 
a  determinate  amount  of  light  and  heat  from  the  Sun, 
which  is  necessary  to  the  well-being  both  of  animals  and 
plants  ;  and  it  is  measured  out  to  them  with  a  regularity 
equal  to  that  with  which  we  ourselves  receive  it.  One 
can  see  no  other  purpose  that  could  be  served  by  diurnal 
rotation  except  the  distribution  of  light  and  heat  ;  and,  if 
the  axes  of  the  planets  had  been  "  inclined  "  very  differ- 
ently to  what  is  actually  the  case,  this  purpose  would  not 
have  been  so  efficiently  accomplished.  The  amount  of 
light  and  heat  received  by  the  more  distant  planets  must 
be  necessarily  small  in  comparison  with  our  own  supply  ; 
thus  at  Neptune  it  is  a  thousand  times  less  than  at  our 
Earth.  Still  it  is  easy  to  conceive  that  by  a  correspond- 
ing increase  in  the  sensibility  of  the  retina  nearly  every 


40  Sun  and  Moon, 

purpose  of  vision  may  be  adequately  fulfilled.  Even  on 
our  own  Earth  there  are  animals  which  see  with  an 
amount  of  light  which  to  us  is  little  else  than  darkness. 

The  next  point  of  analogy  is  that  most  of  the  planets, 
if  not  all,  are  surrounded  with  atmospheres  which  distrib- 
ute and  refract  the  light,  while  they  retain  and  intensify 
the  heat,  just  as  on  our  Earth.  In  some  of  them,  indeed, 
as  in  Venus,  the  soft  twilight  is  as  visible  to  astronomers, 
as  our  own  twilight  is  to  ourselves.  Earth  has  its  atmos- 
phere often  charged  with  clouds,  Jupiter  is  belted  round 
with  them  ;  from  which  may  be  inferred  the  existence  of 
an  atmosphere  and  of  water.  An  atmosphere  must  neces- 
sarily give  rise  to  currents  of  wind.  From  the  vast  size 
of  Jupiter,  and  the  velocity  with  which  his  surface  moves 
round  at  the  equator,  there  must  likewise  be  trade-winds 
of  much  greater  force  than  our  own.  One  effect  of  those 
stormy  trades  would  be  to  give  a  streaky  character  to  the 
clouds  encircling  tropical  districts  —  a  theory  with  which 
the  appearance  of  Jupiter's  famous  belts  exactly  corre- 
sponds. The  main  divisions  of  the  surface  into  land  and 
water  can  be  distinguished  and  mapped  out  in  Mars, 
while  chains  of  mountains  are  to  be  descried  in  Mercury 
and  Venus. 

Analogy  carries  the  argument  still  further.  Planets, 
like  our  Earth,  have  their  moons,  whose  number  and  size 
are  in  some  degree  proportionate  to  the  distance  of  the 
planet  from  the  Sun,  or,  in  other  words,  to  the  urgency 
with  which  supplemental  "  lamps  "  are  needed.  Mercury 
and  Venus,  lying  near  the  Sun,  bask  in  his  light,  and  have 
no  proper  satellites,  although  they  must  act  as  moons  to 
each  other.  Our  Earth  has  one.  Mars,  though  lying 
more  remote  from  the  Sun  than  we  are,  has  none.  Jupi- 
ter, five  times  more  distant  from  the  Sun  than  our  Earth, 
has  four  satellites  disposed  with  such  careful  design  that 
some  of  them  are  always  shining.  Farther  off,  in  the 
darker   regions   of    the   solar   system,    Saturn's    night   is 


Sun  and  Moon,  41 

broken  by  the  light  of  eight  satellites,  some  of  which  are 
always  full,  as  well  as  by  his  wonderful  luminous  "  ring  "  ; 
while  Uranus  has  not  fewer  than  four  moons,  and  proba- 
bly may  have  more  over  which  distance  has  hitherto  cast 
obscurity.  As  regards  Neptune,  his  enormous  distance 
must  continue  to  make  the  number  of  his  satellites  a 
question  of  extreme  difficulty.  One,  however,  has  already 
been  discovered,  and  improved  telescopes  will  probably 
reveal  more.  As  corroborative  evidence  I  need  do  no 
more  in  this  place  than  merely  allude  to  the  recent  results 
of  spectrum  analysis,  or  the  chemical  examination  of  the 
light  itself  which  they  transmit ;  from  which  it  appears 
that  not  only  the  Sun  and  planets,  but  even  the  stars,  act- 
ually contain  substances  with  which  we  are  familiar  here 
on  Earth. 

That  those  planetary  globes,  with  their  continents  and 
oceans  so  analogous  to  our  own  in  the  plan  of  their  physi- 
cal conditions  and  so  vastly  surpassing  them  in  extent  of 
surface,  should  be  void  and  barren  and  destitute  of  life  in 
every  form,  seems  scarcely  consistent  with  our  knowledge 
of  the  ways  of  the  Creator.  All  over  our  globe,  except, 
perhaps,  among  the  polar  snows  or  in  the  desert,  we  see 
life  abounding.  Space  is  everywhere  economized  by  Na- 
ture, and  thriftily  allotted  out  to  living  creatures.  To  pro- 
mote the  spread  of  life  the  most  dissimilar  spots  have  in- 
habitants expressly  constructed  for  them,  so  that  every 
place  may  become  a  home  in  which  something  living  may 
exist.  The  abundance  of  Nature  —  the  profusion  of  life  — 
is  proverbial,  and  forces  itself  on  our  notice  in  every  di- 
rection. Is  it  likely  that  those  vast  orbs  —  with  masses 
and  densities  so  wonderfully  modified  and  adjusted  in  ac- 
cordance with  what  we  perceive  to  be  the  requirements  of 
living  creatures  —  with  years  and  months,  days  and  nights, 
seasons  and  climates  —  with  atmospheres  and  twilights, 
trade-winds  and  currents — with  clouds  and  rains,  con- 
tinents and  seas,  mountains  and  polar  snows  —  with  sun, 


42  Sun  and  Afoon. 

moon,  and  stars,  and,  in  short,  with  all  the  elements  that 
make  up  the  conditions  of  a  habitable  globe  —  is  it  likely 
that  those  glorious  works  of  the  Creator  should  have  been 
formed  to  lie  waste,  sterile,  and  unprofitable  ?  Or  even  if 
we  could  bring  ourselves  to  think  that  those  masses, 
whose  united  bulk  dwarfs  our  Earth  to  insignificance,  had 
been  created  solely  as  make-weights  to  keep  this  little 
atom  of  Earth  in  its  place,  why  should  they  have  been 
provided  with  a  complicated  system  of  moons  revolving 
round  them  to  give  them  auxiliary  light  ?  The  Sun's  light 
they  share  in  common  with  ourselves  ;  but  for  what  con- 
ceivable purpose  should  deserts  void  of  life  have  been 
supplied  with  those  wonderful  lamps  to  light  them  up  in 
the  absence  of  the  Sun  ?  Our  own  Moon,  we  know,  was 
made  "  to  rule  the  night,"  to  give  light  to  something  that 
could  profit  by  it ;  has  the  same  beautiful  machinery 
been  repeated,  and  even  more  extensively  than  here,  for 
the  sake  of  globes  where  nothing  living  exists  to  which  it 
can  be  of  use  ?  Not  less  wonderful,  and  for  a  purpose  not 
less  obvious,  is  the  way  in  which  the  size  and  density  of 
the  different  planets  have  been  modified  to  harmonize  with 
the  probable  strength  and  power  of  objects  existing  upon 
them.  The  very  conditions  that  would  be  incompatible 
with  our  organization  may,  from  the  adjustments  of  crea- 
tive wisdom,  be  exactly  suited  to  the  beings  called  on  to 
inhabit  them.  All  life,  even  if  it  be  essentially  the  same 
in  principle,  may  not  everywhere  assume  the  same  phase 
of  outward  existence,  nor  need  we  attempt  to  set  limits  in 
this  respect  to  the  Lord  of  Life.  The  spaces  lie  there 
furnished  and  ready  —  the  Word  only  was  required  to 
people  them  with  a  life  which  may  be  different,  but  which, 
so  far  as  we  can  understand  the  conditions,  need  not  be 
very  different,  from  life  such  as  we  see  existing  around  us. 
Reflection  upon  these  and  other  points  seems  to  reverse 
the  question  with  which  we  set  out,  and  to  make  the  dif- 
ficulty consist  in  believing,  not  that  life  in  some  shape  ex- 


Sun  and  Moon.  43 

ists  upon  our  fellow-planets,  but  that  they  can  be  destitute 
of  it.  Such  inquiries  have  an  interest  which  goes  beyond 
their  mere  astronomical  import,  for  they  touch  our  con- 
ceptions of  God's  greatness.  Is  there  any  one  who  does 
not  long  to  be  able  reasonably  to  cherish  the  thought  that, 
far  away  from  this  tiny  speck  of  Earth,  in  the  remote 
realms  of  space,  we  behold  worlds  inhabited  by  beings 
who,  it  may  be,  are  privileged  like  ourselves  to  know  their 
Creator,  and  to  bless,  praise,  and  magnify  Him  for  ever  ? 

We  turn  toward  our  nearest  neighbor  in  the  solar  sys- 
tem with  a  sentiment  bordering  on  familiar  affection.     We 
speak  of  it  emphatically  as  "  our  Moon."     The  Sun  we 
share  with  other  planets,  but  this  beauteous  orb  belongs 
exclusively  to  ourselves.     Although  we  transmit  to  each 
other  but  little  warmth,  we  yet  cheer  up  the  darkness  of 
each  other's  nights  by  liberally  reflecting  the  rays  which 
each  receives  from  the  Sun.     Like  loyal  friends  we  give 
and  we  take  to  our  mutual  advantage  \  and,  as  the  Earth 
is  the  larger  reflecting  body  of  the  two,  we  repay  with  in- 
terest the  light  we  borrow.     To  young  and  old  the  Moon 
is  ever  interesting  and  beautiful.     The  infant  questions  it 
with  delighted  eye,  and  stretches  out  its  tiny  arms  to  play 
with  or   to  catch    it.     From    moonland   have   descended 
some  of  the  mysterious  legends  of  childhood.     The  boy 
soon  learns  to  recognize  "  the  man  in  the  moon,"  and  the 
familiar  face  roots  itself  in  his  imagination  for  life.     Its 
gentle  light  is  associated  with  many  pleasures.     We  wel- 
come its  first  curved  streak  in  the  west  as  a  sign  that  our 
gloomy  nights  are  past ;  we  watch  it  to  "  the  full "  with 
ever-increasing  admiration,  and  we  part  from    it    at    last 
with  regret  and  hope.     Our  very  dogs  salute  it  with  their 
bark  ;  a  notice  they  bestow  on  no  other  celestial  object. 
Floating  in  the    clear  sky,  or  poised    among   the   fleecy, 
tinted  clouds,  silvering  the  water  or  piercing  through  the 
trees  —  in  every  phase  and  aspect  it  is  beautiful.     Like  an 
enchanter  it  casts  the  charm  of  picturesqueness  over  the 


44  .  Sun  and  Moon, 

meanest  objects,  and  masses  which  look  hard  or  ugly  in 
the  garish  light  of  the  Sun  mellow  into  beauty  when 
touched  by  the  power  of  the  moonbeam. 

The  Moon's  journey  round  our  Earth  —  the  lunar  month 
—  is  accomplished  in  a  little  more  than  twenty-nine  days 
and  a  half.  When  interposed  between  the  Earth  and  Sun 
she  is  invisible,  because  her  dark  side  is  turned  toward 
us ;  but  during  nearly  all  the  rest  of  her  circuit  she  re- 
flects a  portion  of  the  light  received  from  the  Sun,  and 
cheers  our  nights  with  brightness.  The  actual  amount  of 
light  thus  transmitted  is  small  when  compared  with  that 
which  floods  in  upon  us  from  the  Sun,  being  scarcely 
equivalent  to  the  300,000th  part ;  and  it  has  been  calcu- 
lated that  were  the  whole  heavens  covered  with  full  moons, 
it  would  not  equal  the  light  of  the  Sun.  The  distance 
from  the  centre  of  the  Earth  to  the  centre  of  the  Moon  is 
238,793  miles.  An  express  train  would  easily  clear  the 
distance  between  the  two  globes  in  300  days. 

Unlike  the  active  Earth,  which  rotates  on  its  axis  every 
twenty-four  hours,  the  Moon  turns  herself  round  only  once 
in  twenty-seven  days  seven  hours  and  forty-four  minutes. 
Every  body  must  have  observed  that  the  well-known  feat- 
ures of  "  the  man  in  the  moon  "  never  change  ;  in  other 
words,  the  same  hemisphere  of  our  satellite  is  always  pre- 
sented toward  us.  That  this  peculiarity  is  the  result  of 
the  coincidence  in  point  of  time  which  exists  between  her 
axial  rotation  —  constituting  her  day  —  and  her  orbital  ro- 
tation round  the  Earth,  which  constitutes  our  month,  may 
be  easily  illustrated  by  experiment.  Thus,  if  a  person 
move  slowly  round  a  circular  table,  keeping  his  face, 
which  we  may  suppose  to  represent  the  Moon,  always  di- 
rected toward  the  centre  of  the  table,  where  we  may  sup- 
pose the  Earth  to  be  placed,  he  will  find  that  in  making 
one  complete  circle  his  face  has  rotated  or  turned  round 
once  also.  Such  is  precisely  the  relation  between  Earth 
and  Moon  during  the  course  of  the  month,  and  thus  it 


Sun  and  Moon.  45 

may  be  easily  understood  why  we  always   see  the  same 
side  of  the  Moon,  notwithstanding  her  rotation. 

As  the  Moon  revolves  only  once  on  her  axis  in  the 
course  of  a  month,  it  follows  that  during  half  of  that  time 
each  hemisphere  is  turned  toward  the  Sun,  and  during 
the  other  half  it  is  turned  away  from  it :  —  the  whole 
period  forming  one  long  day  and  one  long  night.  The 
Lunarians,  therefore,  if  any  exist,  must  be  subject  to  a 
very  singular  climate.  During  their  long  "half-month" 
day  the  surface  must  be  scorched  by  a  Sun  whose  fierce- 
ness is  tempered  by  no  atmosphere ;  and  this  must  be 
succeeded  by  a  "  half-month  "  night,  in  which  the  Sun  is 
altogether  absent,  and  the  darkness  is  broken  only  by  star- 
light. During  the  day  the  temperature  will  far  transcend 
the  hottest  tropical  climate,  while  in  the  night  it  will  sink 
far  below  the  greatest  cold  of  the  arctic  regions. 

He  who  once  fairly  surveys  the  Moon  through  a  good 
telescope  will  never  afterward  forget  its  aspect.  It 
charms  and  fascinates  the  eye,  and,  though  resembling  so 
many  other  things,  it  is  yet  always  so  specially  its  own  in- 
dividual self.  A  good  pictorial  chart  gives  an  idea  which 
wonderfully  approaches  Nature,  and  it  is  as  easy  to  follow 
upon  it  the  various  localities  in  the  Moon,  as  it  is  to  follow 
upon  a  map  the  various  features  of  the  land.  If  we  look 
at  the  full  Moon  we  take,  as  it  were,  a  bird's-eye  view  from 
a  great  height,  which  levels  inequalities.  Its  disk  presents 
a  smiling,  brilliant  yet  softly  lighted  surface  —  a  sunny 
land,  from  which  all  gloom  is  banished.  But  both  before 
and  after  the  full  Moon,  when  we  see  its  features  more  in 
profile,  a  different  tale  is  told.  Here  and  there  softly 
shaded  plains  are  still  to  be  noticed,  but  the  chief  part  of 
the  surface  appears  to  have  been  fashioned  by  the  most  vio- 
lent volcanic  forces.  It  is  scarred  and  rent,  convulsed  and 
burnt  into  an  arid,  cindery  ruin.  Serrated  craters,  some 
more  than  a  hundred  miles  wide,  are  thickly  dotted  about, 
and    inclosed  within  them   are  levels  from  whose  centre 


46  Sun  and  Moon. 

cones  of  igneous  origin  shoot  up.  The  brightest  peaks, 
the  darkest  precipices,  the  most  jagged  ridges  crowd  this 
rugged  picture.  To  many  minds  the  idea  has  suggested 
itself  that  some  scathing  doom  has  blighted  the  surface 
of  our  satellite,  for  nowhere  else  can  Nature  match  this 
aspect  of  desolation.  Fancy  rather  than  science  has  tried 
to  deal  with  such  a  scene.  Some  have  conjectured  that  it 
might  be  an  Earth  burnt  up  and  destroyed  by  the  out- 
pouring of  God's  wrath.  Others  have  supposed  that  it  is 
a  comparatively  recent  world  —  a  globe  in  a  state  of  chaos 
—  whose  crust  has  not  yet  been  sufficiently  worn  down  by 
the  hand  of  Time  to  fit  it  for  the  abode  of  living  creatures. 
Destitute  of  life  it  certainly  appears  to  be  at  present,  nor 
do  its  physical  conditions  seem  to  fit  it  for  ever  becoming 
the  abode  of  that  kind  of  life  which  we  see  existing  on  our 
own  globe.  Amid  these  conjectures  let  us  fall  back  with 
thankfulness  upon  what  is  certain.  Cosmically  consid- 
ered it  performs  its  part  in  upholding  the  balance  of  our 
solar  system  ;  and,  in  reference  to  ourselves,  we  know  that 
it  was  created  by  Our  Father  "  to  rule  the  night,"  and  in 
other  ways  to  shed  blessings  on  His  children. 

Many  of  the  mountains  in  the  Moon  have  been  meas- 
ured by  ingenious  mathematical  processes,  and  at  least 
one  has  been  found  to  attain  a  height  of  26,691  feet, 
which,  though  not  quite  equal  to  that  of  our  highest  Him- 
alayan or  Andean  peaks,  is  yet  proportionately  higher, 
since  the  Moon's  diameter  is  little  more  than  a  fourth  of 
that  of  the  Earth.  As  the  rays  of  the  Sun  fall  obliquely 
upon  them  they  are  seen  in  profile  —  being  bright  on  the 
side  next  the  Sun,  and  in  dark  shadow  on  the  side  turned 
away  from  it.  Their  peaked  and  jagged  outline  is  best 
displayed  along  the  inner  margin  of  the  crescent  Moon. 
Mountains  in  the  Moon  present  in  miniature  an  exact 
counterpart  of  the  effects  which  sunlight  produces  on  the 
mountains  of  the  Earth.  In  alpine  districts  the  rays  are 
first  caught  by  the  loftiest  peaks,  then  the  side  next  the 


Sun  and  Moon.  47 

Sun  is  brightened,  while  the  side  turned  away  from  it  still 
remains  in  shade.  Lastly  the  western  slope  becomes  il- 
luminated, and  the  eastern  in  its  turn  passes  into  dark- 
ness. In  the  Moon  the  mountains  may  be  observed  to 
undergo  changes  in  their  lighting  up  which  are  precisely 
of  the  same  nature. 

From  the  absence  of  those  effects  that  would  necessa- 
rily result  from  the  refraction  of  light,  astronomers  con- 
clude either  that  the  Moon  has  no  atmosphere,  or  that,  if 
it  exist,  it  must  be  as  attenuated  as  the  air  in  the  vacuum 
of  an  air-pump.  For  the  same  and  for  other  reasons  it  is 
also  to  be  inferred  that  water  is  equally  wanting.  During 
the  long  moon-day  of  half  a  month,  the  Sun's  rays  beat 
fiercely  upon  its  surface,  and  would  certainly  send  up 
clouds  of  vapor  if  any  water  existed  for  them  to  act  upon. 
The  result  would  be  to  cover  the  Moon  with  a  nebulous 
screen  impenetrable  to  vision,  —  a  condition  which  is 
plainly  inconsistent  with  the  fact  that  whenever  the  Earth's 
atmosphere  is  clear,  we  always  see  the  Moon  with  the 
same  unvarying  brightness.  According  to  Dr.  Lardner, 
however,  there  might  possibly  be  ice,  for  "  in  the  absence 
of  an  atmosphere,  the  temperature  must  necessarily  be 
not  only  far  below  the  point  of  congelation  of  water,  but 
even  that  of  most  other  fluids,"  and  he  points  to  the  fact 
that,  even  under  the  burning  Sun  of  the  tropics,  the  rare- 
fied condition  of  the  atmosphere  existing  at  a  height  of 
16,000  feet  upon  the  Andes  produces  a  cold  which  con- 
verts all  vapor  into  snow  and  ice.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
seems  clear  that,  if  ice  existed  in  the  Moon,  some  amount 
of  vapor  could  hardly  fail  to  be  produced  by  the  long- 
continued  action  of  the  Sun,  and  we  know  that  in  the 
tropics  clouds  hang  round  even  the  highest  peaks.  If 
there  were  a  cloud  even  200  yards  in  extent,  it  would  be 
visible  to  us  by  telescope.  Thus  all  arguments  tend  to 
prove  that  the  Moon  is  destitute  of  water. 

The  Earth  and  our  satellite,  as  has  been  said,  mutually 


48         .  Sun  and  Moon. 

interchange  their  good  offices,  and  shine  upon  each  other 
as  moons.  A  curious  illustration  of  this  i»  seen  when  the 
dim  outline  of  the  rest  of  the  Moon  fills  up  the  hollow  of 
the  bright  crescent,  or  when,  in  popular  phrase,  "  the 
young  Moon  has  the  old  one  in  her  arms."  We  all  know 
it  is  the  reflected  rays  of  the  Sun  which  makes  the  cres- 
cent visible,  but  how  is  it  that  we  are  able  to  see  the  rest 
of  the  Moon  upon  which  the  Sun  is  not  shining  ?  It  is  by 
what  is  termed  "  earth-shine,"  or  by  means  of  those  rays 
which  in  our  quality  of  moon  we  send  across  to  her.  The 
•'  earth-shine  "  on  the  Moon  is  pale  and  shadowy,  but  we 
must  recollect  that  the  rays  which  bring  it  to  us  have 
traveled  many  a  weary  mile.  They  sprang  originally 
from  the  fountain  of  the  Sun,  and  had  to  speed  across 
some  92  millions  of  miles  before  they  reached  our  shores. 
They  were  then  the  young  and  joyous  rays  that  dazzled 
our  eyes  by  their  brightness.  The  Earth  next  caught 
them  up,  and  cast  them,  softened  into  mild  moonlight, 
across  the  238,000  miles  of  space  that  separates  us  from 
our  satellite.  And  lastly,  these  enfeebled  remnants  of 
light,  after  having  brightened  up  Luna's  rugged  surface, 
were  sent  back  once  more  across  the  wide  gulf  to  the 
Earth,  bringing  with  them  to  our  eyes  the  dim  image  of 
the  Moon  they  had  left  behind. 

Some  may  be  inclined  to  ask,  —  How  happens  it  that 
this  earth-shine  is  not  seen  at  other  phases  of  the  Moon  ? 
It  arises  from  the  circumstance  that  the  crescent  Moon 
always  coincides  with  the  period  when  our  fully  illumined 
disk  is  turned  toward  it.  We  are  then  at  the  "  full." 
Our  lamp-power,  therefore,  is  at  its  highest,  and  is  strong 
enough  to  produce  the  earth-shine.  But  when  the  Moon 
is  about  half  full,  not  only  is  our  lamp-power  diminished 
from  our  "  phase  "  in  relation  to  the  Moon  having  been 
changed,  but  the  more  extensive  illumination  of  the  Moon 
herself  by  the  direct  rays  of  the  Sun  obscures  and,  as  it 
were,  "  puts  out "  the  more  feeble  earth-shine  that  was 
previously  visible. 


Sun  and  Moon.  49 

From  the  comparative  nearness  of  the  Moon,  and  the 
perfection  gradually  imparted  to  optical  instruments,  many- 
have  been  bold  enough  to  anticipate  that  we  shall  some 
day  see  in  it  the  familiar  objects  of  every-day  life,  or  even 
the  Lunarians  themselves,  if  any  do  exist.  This  rather 
unreasonable  expectation  has  been  from  time  to  time  en- 
couraged by  premature  announcements.  Thus,  on  one 
occasion,  it  was  given  out  that  a  town  had  been  plainly 
distinguished  in  the  Moon  ;  on  another,  that  a  fortifica- 
tion with  roads  and  canals  were  equally  discernible.  But 
these  supposed  discoveries  have  never  received  subse- 
quent confirmation.  On  the  contrary,  Madler,  of  Berlin, 
has  pointed  out  that  it  is  in  the  highest  degree  improbable 
we  shall  ever  be  able  to  observe  objects  so  small  as  the 
human  figure.  The  extreme  distance,  he  remarks,  at 
which  a  man  is  visible  to  the  unassisted  eye  is  a  German 
league.  Now,  to  bring  an  object  in  the  Moon  to  that 
apparent  distance  would  require  a  magnifying  power  of 
51,000,  while  with  all  our  modern  skill  in  instrument- 
making,  we  do  not  as  yet  possess  any  power  which  mag- 
nifies more  than  6000  times. 

Scripture  as  well  as  experience  and  common  sense  tells 
us  that  the  Moon  was  made  "  to  rule  the  night ;  "  but  some 
have  objected  to  the  obvious  meaning  of  the  expression, 
if  not  to  the  perfection  of  the  work  itself,  on  the  ground 
that  the  "  lamp "  is  only  occasionally  lighted  up.  The 
observations  of  Laplace  certainly  sanctioned  the  opinion 
that  the  Moon  might  possibly  have  been  placed  in  the 
heavens  in  such  a  position  as  to  be  always  "  full  "  to  us  ; 
but  this  advantage  could  only  have  been  purchased  at  the 
cost  of  the  loss  of  light  that  would  have  arisen  from  in- 
creased distance.  As  things  are  actually  regulated,  more 
or  less  moonlight  brightens  our  Earth  on  most  nights  of 
the  year,  and  few  months  pass  over  without  our  practi- 
cally experiencing  the  advantage  of  the  light  which  has 
been  placed  by  Our  Father  in  the  heavens  for  our  use. 
4 


5<D  Sun  and  Moon. 

In  arctic  regions  the  Moon  and  the  stars  alone  break 
through  the  darkness  of  the  long  winter's  night,  and  all 
who  have  read  the  story  of  polar  voyages  will  recollect 
the  thankfulness  with  which  moonlight  is  welcomed  and 
appreciated.  The  Arab  of  the  desert  steers  on  emer- 
gency by  the  light  and  position  of  the  Moon.  Over  the 
pathless  seas  the  Moon  is  the  navigator's  friend  and  coun- 
sellor. It  places  in  his  hand  a  certain  scale  for  measuring 
the  longitude  and  fixing  the  spot  where  the  ship  may  be. 
When  we  think  of  the  fleets  of  noble  vessels,  the  wealth 
of  merchandise,  and  the  thousands  of  lives  whose  safety 
is  dependent  on  its  teachings,  we  may  form  some  estimate 
of  the  value  of  this  blessing.  "  Without  the  Moon's  aid," 
an  astronomer  observes,  "  our  ships,  instead  of  fearlessly 
traversing  the  ocean  from  pole  to  pole,  would  probably 
even  now  be  incapable  of  performing  long  voyages,  and 
would  content  themselves  with  exchanging  commodities 
and  intelligence  between  well-known  and  neighboring 
shores." 

Of  old  the  Moon  played  a  more  important  part  than 
she  now  does  in  the  notation  of  time  ;  but,  among  many 
Eastern  peoples,  the  Moon  still  indicates  the  seasons, 
while  its  different  phases  serve  as  an  almanac  to  mark 
particular  days.  Among  the  Jews  the  new  Moon  was  as- 
sociated with  certain  religious  ceremonies,  and  men  were 
stationed  on  the  hill-tops  to  give  the  earliest  notice  of  its 
approach.  Some  Orientals  are  also  accustomed  to  indi- 
cate the  seasonal  stages  of  vegetable  life  by  the  epithets 
they  apply  to  the  Moon  :  —  thus  there  is  the  rice-moon, 
the  wild-strawberry  moon,  the  leaf-falling  moon,  and  there 
is  likewise  an  ice-moon.  We  have,  at  least,  our  glorious 
Harvest-moon.  Nor  is  the*  Moon  unrecognized  in  our 
Church  festivals  ;  for  Easter  is  always  celebrated  on  the 
Sunday  following  the  first  full  Moon  which  happens  on  or 
after  the  21st  March,  or  vernal  equinox. 

The  Heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God  ;  and  the  firmament  showeth  His 
handiwork.  —  Ps.  xix. 


THE   STARS   OF  HE  A  VEN. 

Oye  Stars  of  Heaven,  bless  ye  the  Lord:  praise  Him,  and  magnify 

Him  for  ever. 

E  who  turns  his  thoughts  starward  will  speedily 
find  his  power  of  distinct  conception  strained  to 
its  utmost  effort ;  for  as  the  distances,  magni- 
tudes, and  movements  with  which  we  are  familiar  upon 
Earth  are  dwarfed  by  those  of  the  Solar  system,  so  do  the 
latter  in  their  turn  shrink  into  insignificance  when  com- 
pared to  the  distances,  magnitudes,  and  movements  of  the 
Stellar  Universe.  Miles  now  become  useless,  and  no 
longer  speak  to  us  with  their  old  intelligible  meaning; 
and  the  other  familiar  aids  that  helped  us  on  in  the  com- 
prehension of  Solar  measurements  are  scarcely  more  ser- 
viceable. The  locomotive  with  its  30  miles  an  hour,  the 
cannon-ball  with  its  flight  of  500  miles  an  hour,  are  all 
too  slow  to  mete  out  distances  such  as  are  now  to  occupy 
us.  Nothing  but  light  itself,  cleaving  through  space  with 
a  velocity  of  192,000  miles  a  second  —  or,  according  to 
Foucault's  latest  estimate,  186,000  miles  a  second  —  can 
supply  us  with  a  standard  capable  of  representing  the  re- 
moteness of  the  more  distant,  visible  stars. 

In  the  immensity  of  the  plans  and  natures  revealed  by 
Astronomy  we  miss  those  homely  illustrations  of  provi- 
dential design  which  are  so  often  impressed  upon  us  in 
our  daily  experience  among  the  familiar  objects  around 
us.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  we  behold  in  their  mightiest 
development  the  laws  governing  that  Universe  of  worlds 
which  peoples  the  realms  of  space,  and  among  which  our 


52  The  Stars  of  Heaven. 

spot  of  Earth  occupies  so  humble  a  position  In  presence 
of  this  grand  view  the  physical  details  of  our  little  globe 
seem  almost  too  petty  to  be  remembered.  The  Omnipo- 
tence and  Infinity  of  God  confront  us  with  all  the  vivid- 
ness which  our  finite  understanding  can  conceive,  and  we 
bow  our  heads  in  heartfelt  adoration. 

By  the  Word  of  the  Lord  were  the  Heavens  made,  and  all  the  hosts  of 
them  by  the  breath  of  His  mouth.  —  Ps.  xxxiii. 

The  "  Hosts  of  Heaven  "  are  truly  called  innumerable, 
and,  as  we  glance  upward  on  a  clear,  starry  night,  the 
twinkling  points  that  meet  our  gaze  in  all  directions  seem 
to  defy  enumeration.  Yet,  strange  though  it  may  appear, 
the  sum  of  all  the  stars  that  can  be  distinguished  by  the 
naked  eye  in  both  hemispheres  under  the  most  favorable 
circumstances  does  not  exceed  6000,  and  of  these  consider- 
ably less  than  a  half  belongs  to  our  own  northern  division. 
But,  when  the  telescope  is  turned  toward  the  sky,  stars 
come  forth  in  myriads  from  the  dark  depths  of  the  firma- 
ment ;  and,  as  each  additional  light-grasping  power  is 
given  to  the  instrument,  a  new  region  of  the  heavens  is 
joined  on  to  those  that  have  been  already  explored ;  and 
every  new  stratum  of  space  thus  added  is  found  to  be 
studded  with  stars  in  an  ever-increasing  ratio.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  estimate  the  number  which  may  thus  be  brought 
into  view,  but  astronomers  compute  it  to  be  not  less  than 
100  millions.  To  a  superficial  observer  the  stars  seem 
scattered  about  as  if  by  chance,  but  a  more  careful  in- 
spection reveals  that  some  fixed  law  of  distribution,  which 
we  cannot  as  yet  unravel,  reigns  supreme  among  them. 
"  Suppose,"  says  Dr.  Nichol,  "  a  number  of  peas  thrown 
at  random  on  a  chess-board,  what  would  you  expect  ? 
Certainly  that  they  should  be  found  occupying  irregular 
or  random  positions ;  and  if,  contrary  to  this,  in  far  more 
than  average  numbers,  arranged  by  twos  upon  each  square, 
it  would  be  a  most  natural  inference  that  here  there  is  no 


The  Stars  of  Heaven.  53 

random  scattering."  Appearances,  indeed,  have  convinced 
some  most  eminent  astronomers  that  our  own  solar  sys- 
tem —  in  its  entirety  —  has  been  planted  in  the  midst  of 
a  cluster  of  stars,  of  which  the  exterior  rim  is  composed 
by  the  encircling  stellar  hoop  of  the  Milky  Way.  Lying 
beyond  the  Milky  Way  are  other  clusters,  which  may  rep- 
resent similar  systems,  but  which,  at  all  events,  display  a 
certain,  recognizable,  general  structure  ;  and  the  same  may 
be  said  of  the  still  more  remote  nebulae,  whenever  it  has 
been  possible  by  the  aid  of  the  telescope  to  resolve  them 
with  any  degree  of  fair  distinctness  into  their  proper  forms. 
In  picturing  the  distant  regions  of  space  Dr.  Nichol 
observes :  "  Mystery,  indeed,  heavy,  almost  oppressive, 
hangs  over  all  the  perspective ;  but  the  shapes  strewn 
through  that  bewildering  territory  have  nothing  in  com- 
mon with  the  fantastic  creations  of  a  dream.  It  is  the 
essence  of  these  nebulse  that  they  are  not  formless,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  impressed  indelibly  by  system  on  the 
grandest  scale  ;  clearly  as  a  leaf  they  have  an  organism  ; 
something  has  seized  on  their  enormous  volumes,  and 
molded  them  into  a  wonderful  order."  Thus  every  thing 
bears  the  mark  of  order  impressed  upon  it  by  the  Al- 
mighty hand.  That  noble  gift  of  God  to  man  —  the  tel- 
escope —  has  magnified  Him  by  driving  away  every  sem- 
blance of  chance  from  the  firmament,  and  by  exhibiting 
in  its  place  design  and  established  law.  Up  there  as 
down  here  the  idea  of  irregularity  or  chance  is  but  the 
suggestion  of  our  own  ignorance.  How  far  into  space 
our  view  has  been  carried  by  the  power  of  the  telescope 
we  shall  immediately  endeavor  to  point  out. 

Certain  groups  of  stars,  named  Binary  and  Multiple, 
are  interesting  to  us  in  many  respects,  and  in  none  more 
so  than  from  their  exhibiting  the  harmony  and  order  amid 
which  they  exist.  The  telescope  reveals  to  us  that  two  or 
more  stars  are  sometimes  linked  together  in  the  relation 
of  sun  and  planet,  or  rather  as  coordinate  suns  revolving 


54  The  Stars  of  Heaven, 

round  each  other,  or  round  a  common  centre.  These 
Binary  stars  display  the  evidence  of  design  and  power  as 
convincingly  as  is  done  by  the  members  of  the  solar  sys- 
tem. The  same  law  of  gravity  with  which  we  are  so  fa- 
miliar on  Earth,  is  proved  to  be  in  full  operation  among 
them,  and  their  orbital  revolutions  in  obedience  to  it  have, 
in  some  instances,  been  observed  and  calculated  upon  the 
same  principles  as  those  by  which  the  movements  of  the 
planets  are  determined.  With  more  perfect  instruments 
and  a  sufficient  allowance  of  time  for  the  collection  of 
data,  their  movements  may,  at  some  future  clay,  be  chron- 
icled with  as  much  accuracy  as  the  other  sidereal  events 
of  the  almanac.  Yet  so  well  are  the  orbital  movements 
of  some  stars  understood,  even  now,  that  a  "  perturba- 
tion "  or  deviation  from  the  usual  path  has  been  detected 
in  the  bright  Sirius,  of  the  same  nature  as  happened  in 
the  famous  case  of  Uranus  ;  and  calculations  indicating 
the  position  in  which  the  "  perturbator  "  would  be  found 
were  made  on  the  same  principle  as  those  which  led  to 
the  discovery  of  the  planet  Neptune.  Nay  more  —  the 
disturbing  mass  which  caused  the  star  to  stagger  in  its 
path  has  been  seen  through  an  American  telescope,  in  the 
very  quarter  to  which  the  finger  of  science  had  already 
pointed,  and  the  discovery  has  since  then  been  amply  con- 
firmed. We  shall  immediately  have  to  consider  the  dis- 
tance of  the  field  in  which  this  scrutiny  was  held.  "  When 
a  branch  of  science,"  says  Guillemin,  "  scarcely  known 
two  centuries  ago,  and  cultivated  steadily  for  less  than  a 
hundred  years,  arrives  at  such  results,  what  may  we  not 
hope  for  in  the  future  progress  of  sidereal  astronomy  ?  " 

Binary  and  Multiple  stars  —  being  suns  —  are  probably 
attended  by  their  planetary  systems,  giving  rise  to  cos- 
mical  conditions  of  extreme  interest.  The  inhabitants  of 
those  earths  —  if  there  be  any  —  will  frequently  see  two 
suns,  or  two  sunrises  and  sunsets  on  the  same  day.  Oc- 
casionally there  will  be  no  night,  from  the  continuance  of 


The  Stars  of  Heaven.  55 

one  of  the  suns  above  the  horizon ;  or  one  sun  may  be 
rising  while  another  is  setting.  It  often  happens  too  that 
the  stars  are  of  different  colors,  from  which  the  most  sin- 
gular and  beautiful  appearances  will  arise.  "  It  may  be 
easier  suggested  in  words,"  says  Sir  John  Herschel,  "  than 
conceived  in  imagination  what  a  variety  of  illumination 
two  stars,  a  red  and  a  green,  or  a  yellow  and  blue  one, 
must  afford  a  planet  circulating  round  either,  and  what 
charming  contrasts  and  grateful  vicissitudes  —  a  red  and 
a  green  day,  for  instance,  alternating  with  a  white  one  and 
with  darkness  —  must  arise  from  the  presence  or  absence 
of  one  or  other  or  both,  from  the  horizon." 

The  most  striking  wonders  of  the  Firmament  are  com- 
prised in  the  distances,  magnitudes,  and  velocities  of  the 
stars,  and  it  may  well  excite  both  our  astonishment  and 
our  gratitude  that  we,  the  humble  dwellers  upon  an  atom 
of  earth,  should  be  privileged  to  gauge  them  with  even 
approximative  accuracy.  Yet  the  principle  on  which  as- 
tronomers have  succeeded  in  measuring  the  distance  of  a 
few  of  the  nearest  stars  is  none  other  than  that  by  which 
the  surveyor  maps  out  an  estate  or  a  county.  It  is  an 
ordinary  problem  of  triangulation.  There  is  no  doubt  as 
to  the  truth  of  the  principle  employed,  and  there  is  no 
mystery  in  the  process  —  the  difficulty  lies  in  the  inevita- 
ble imperfection  of  the  instruments  with  which  the  neces- 
sary measurements  must  be  made.  But  every  new  im- 
provement in  the  measuring  power  of  instruments  cancels 
a  certain  amount  of  previous  error ;  and  even  now  there 
is  among  astronomers  —  working  separately  and  inde- 
pendently—  so  wonderful  an  agreement  in  regard  to  the 
vast  distances  involved,  that  it  is  impossible  to  suppose 
either  that  such  coincidence  is  accidental,  or  that  there 
can  be  any  very  material  amount  of  error  in  the  estimates 
thus  formed. 

Has  my  reader  ever  heard  of  the  parallax  of  the  stars  ? 
The  most  unlearned  need  not  be  dismayed  at  the  scien- 


56  The  Stars  of  Heaven. 

tific  look  of  the  expression,  for  the  principle  involved  in 
it  is  in  reality  most  easy  to  understand.  It  will,  indeed, 
largely  repay  a  few  minutes  of  attention,  for  it  is  the  lad- 
der by  which  we  shall  best  climb  to  a  clear  conception  of 
those  truths  of  the  stellar  universe  which  illustrate  so 
grandly  the  Power  of  the  Creator.  And  even  where  the 
conclusions  to  which  it  leads  baffle  the  efforts  of  our  finite 
faculties,  the  definite  basis  on  which  they  rest  will  at  least 
banish  every  idea  of  guess-work  from  our  thoughts. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  that  parallax  movement  is  that 
apparent  shifting  of  bodies  which  arises  from  changing  our 
own  position.  We  cannot  stir  a  step  without  producing 
examples  of  it.  If  we  pace  up  and  down  the  street  oppo- 
site to  any  object  on  the  other  side  —  as  a  door  or  a  lamp- 
post—  the  angular  direction  or  parallax  of  the  object 
changes  at  every  moment.  If  we  sail  down  a  river  and 
fix  our  eyes  on  some  church-spire  at  a  distance  from  its 
bank,  we  find  that  the  direction  in  which  we  see  it  is  al- 
ways altering.  At  first  the  spire  appears  in  advance  of 
us,  then  on  our  sides,  and  lastly  it  lies  behind.  If  instead 
of  limiting  our  attention  to  one  object  we  look  at  several 
that  can  be  easily  observed  together,  we  find  that  as  we 
move  they  move,  or  rather  seem  to  move,  and  the  angles 
formed  by  their  lines  of  direction  are  displaced  relatively 
to  each  other  and  to  us.  One  cannot  look  out  of  a  rail- 
way carriage  without  being  amused  by  the  way  in  which 
objects  seem  to  move  about.  Trees,  houses,  and  churches 
are  never  for  a  moment  at  rest.  Things  that  are  in  line 
"  open  out,"  as  sailors  would  say ;  near  objects  are  mov- 
ing backward,  the  more  distant  are  moving  forward.  In 
this  apparent  change  of  position  we  have  an  example  of 
parallax  movement.  In  all  these  cases  the  line  from 
which  our  observations  are  made  is  the  "  base  ; "  and  if 
the  angle  subtended  by  the  objects  from  the  extremities 
of  this  base  be  given,  the  distance  may  be  easily  calcu- 
lated. 


The  Stars  of  Heaven.  57 

In  all  instances  of  this  parallax  shifting  it  must  have 
been  remarked  that  the  effect  of  a  change  of  our  position 
in  altering  the  direction  of  objects  is  greater  when  they 
are  near  than  when  they  are  distant.  A  few  paces  will 
sensibly  alter  the  angular  position  or  direction  of  the  door 
or  lamp-post  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  But  if 
we  look  at  a  church  some  miles  off,  or  at  ships  anchored 
in  the  offing,  we  find  that  we  require  to  move  much  more 
than  a  few  paces  — in  other  words,  we  require  to  increase 
considerably  the  length  of  the  base — before  we  can  make 
any  sensible  change  in  the  angle  or  direction  in  which  we 
see  them.  In  proportion,  therefore,  as  the  distance  of 
objects  increases,  so  must  we  lengthen  out  the  base  from 
which  we  survey  them  in  order  to  obtain  parallax  displace- 
ment. It  follows,  too,  that  if  in  observations  taken  from 
a  short  base  line  objects  appear  to  have  changed  much, 
we  may  infer  that  they  are  near  ;  but,  if  the  base  require 
to  be  long  in  order  to  produce  an  effect,  we  may  equally 
infer  that  they  are  distant. 

Such  is  the  plain  and  certain  principle  which  astrono- 
mers applied  to  measure  the  distance  of  the  stars  ;  but 
the  great  difficulty  was  to  find  a  base  line  long  enough  to 
give  parallax  displacement  to  objects  so  remote.  Stations 
in  this  country  were  obviously  too  near  for  such  a  purpose. 
Simultaneous  observations  were  therefore  made  from 
Greenwich  and  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  —  the  distance 
between  the  two  stations  of  course  representing  the 
"  base,"  —  and  from  these  the  most  interesting  and  im- 
portant results  were  obtained.  For  it  was  found  that, 
though  a  distinct  parallax  movement  could  be  traced  in 
the  planets,  none  whatever  could  be  detected  in  the  stars. 
And  it  followed,  therefore,  that  while  the  planets  were 
comparatively  near,  the  distance  of  the  stars  was  such 
that  a  still  longer  base  was  needed  to  bring  them  within 
the  grasp  of  parallax. 

The  line  from  Greenwich  to    the  Cape  having   failed, 


5S  The  Stars  of  Heaven, 

astronomers  next  had  recourse  to  the  base  represented  by 
the  diameter  of  the  Earth's  orbit.  As  our  globe  revolves 
annually  round  the  Sun,  it  is  obvious  that  it  must  oc- 
cupy a  very  different  position  in  space  at  one  period  of 
the  year  from  what  it  does  at  another.  On  the  ist  Jan- 
uary it  is  at  one  extremity  of  its  ellipse,  on  the  ist  July  it 
is  at  the  point  exactly  opposite,  and  the  length  of  a  line 
drawn  from  the  one  station  to  the  other  is  190,600,000 
miles.  Could  it  be  doubted  that  a  base  line  was  at  last 
obtained  long  enough  to  insure  a  parallax  for  any  con- 
ceivable distance  ? 

It  may  well  be  imagined  with  what  astonishment  the 
fact  broke  upon  astronomers  that,  even  from  this  enormous 
base,  the  keenest  scrutiny  could  not  detect  the  slightest 
displacement  among  the  stars !  Not  one  apparently 
changed  its  position.  The  result  perplexed  philosophers, 
for  it  forced  the  conclusion  upon  them  either  that  the  Co- 
pernican  doctrine  of  the  Earth's  orbital  movement  round 
the  Sun  was  an  error  altogether,  or  else  —  what  seemed 
almost  as  difficult  to  believe  —  that  the  base  line  yielded 
by  the  Earth's  orbital  diameter  was  but  an  inappreciable 
point  in  relation  to  the  inconceivable  distance  of  the  stars. 
For  generations,  therefore,  "  to  discover  the  parallax  of 
the  stars  "  was  one  of  the  grand  astronomical  problems  ; 
but  while  the  chief  observers  strove  earnestly  for  the  prize, 
the  best  among  them  failed  to  carry  it  away.  The  triumph 
was  reserved  for  our  own  time. 

In  truth,  however,  this  want  of  success  in  demonstrat- 
ing the  parallax  of  the  stars  was  no  reproach  to  the  older 
astronomers,  for  it  depended  on  causes  over  which  they 
had  no  control.  To  accomplish  this  grand  object  instru- 
ments of  great  delicacy  were  essential ;  and  instruments 
have  only  been  brought  to  the  requisite  degree  of  perfec- 
tion within  the  last  few  years.  But,  be  it  remarked,  what 
those  old  philosophers  could  not  register  with  the  hand 
they  yet  saw  clearly  with    the  head ;  and,  therefore,  with 


The  Stars  of  Heaven.  59 

perfect  faith  in  the  truth  of  the  Copernican  theory  of  the 
world's  movement  in  space  and  in  the  ultimate  solvability 
of  the  problem,  they  never  lost  heart,  nor  ceased  to  strive 
for  its  accomplishment.  At  length  in  1839  the  long- 
looked-for  discovery  was  made  almost  simultaneously  by 
two  observers  of  equal  merit ;  —  the  British  astronomer, 
Henderson,  at  the  Cape,  having  succeeded  in  measuring 
the  parallax  of  a  star  known  as  a  Centauri,  while  Bessel 
had  already  been  equally  fortunate  in  regard  to  6 1  Cygni. 
It  is  pleasing  to  think  that  these  astronomical  triumphs, 
after  being  scrutinized  and  tested  in  almost  every  great 
Observatory  possessed  of  instruments  sufficiently  fine  for 
the  purpose,  have  stood  their  ground  and  i>een  substan- 
tially confirmed. 

The  difficulty  of  the  feat  becomes  at  once  obvious  when 
we  consider  the  small  sum  of  the  stellar  displacement  ob- 
tained, which,  even  in  the  case  where  it  was  greatest,  did 
not  quite  amount  to  one  second  of  a  degree.  But  the 
conclusion  that  was  to  be  drawn  even  from  so  inconsider 
able  a  parallax  was  astounding  ;  for,  when  the  necessary 
allowances  had  been  made,  it  was  proved  that  the  distance 
of  the  nearest  of  those  stars  from  the  Earth  was  nearly 
20  billions  of  miles.  How  can  we  get  into  our  minds 
some  idea  of  so  great  a  distance  ?  The  standard  of  miles 
seems  utterly  vague  and  profitless.  Do  we  succeed  better 
when  we  are  assured  that  it  is  equal  to  206,000  times 
the  space  separating  our  planet  from  the  Sun  ;  or  211,330 
radii  of  the  Earth's  orbit ;  or  that  a  ray  of  light  darted 
from  its  surface  could  not  reach  our  eye  under  three 
years  and  seven  months,  though  it  traveled  with  its  usual 
speed  of  192,600  miles  a  second  ?  "  Such  then,"  says 
Sir  John  Herschel,  "  is  the  length  of  the  sounding-line 
with  which  we  first  touch  bottom  in  the  attempt  to  fathom 
the  great  abyss  of  the  sidereal  Heavens." 

"  First  touch  bottom  !  "     Let  us  pause,  and  take  breath. 
Let  us   try  soberly  to   realize   the   fact   that   this   flight, 


6o  The  Stars  of  Heaven. 

through  which  our  imagination  has  carried  us  on  the  wings 
of  a  ray  of  light,  has  landed  us  only  at  the  threshold  of 
the  starry  universe.  So  far  as  is  yet  known  this  famous 
star  of  the  Centaur  is  our  nearest  neighbor.  Of  the  thou- 
ands  of  others  whose  parallax  astronomers  have  tried  to 
measure,  there  are  not  more  than  a  dozen  where  it  has 
been  detected,  and  all  of  them  lie  at  various  distances  be- 
yond. The  well-known  Sinus  —  the  very  star  whose  per- 
turbations, as  we  have  seen,  have  already  been  calculated 
and  accounted  for  by  visible  demonstration  —  which  from 
being  the  brightest  among  stars  was  conjectured  to  be  also 
the  nearest,  has  been  proved  by  parallax  measurement  to 
be  at  least  six  times  the  distance  of  a  Centauri ;  from 
which  it  follows,  that  every  ray  of  that  dazzling  orb  that 
now  meets  our  eye  set  out  on  its  journey  toward  us  some 
twenty-two  years  ago.  One  of  the  most  distant  stars  that 
has  as  yet  been  gauged  is  the  beauteous  Capella.  In  ex- 
pressing its  enormous  distance  we  may  discard  all  other 
standards  of  measurement  save  that  which  light  supplies  ; 
and  even  a  ray  of  light,  with  its  speed  of  192,000  miles 
each  second,  would  take  72  years  to  reach  our  Earth.  As 
for  stars  placed  at  greater  distances  the  base  line  of  the 
Earth's  orbit,  seconded  by  the  most  perfect  modern  instru- 
ments of  measurement,  fails  as  yet  to  demonstrate  with 
reliable  accuracy  any  sensible  amount  of  parallax.  In 
relation  to  those  distant  orbs,  a  base  line  of  190,600,000 
miles  shrinks  into  a  mere  point. 

The  belt  of  measurable  parallax,  therefore,  proves  to  be 
but  a  comparatively  shallow  layer  of  the  firmament.  All 
"the  Hosts  of  the  stars"  lie  farther  off  in  regions  which 
no  parallax  can  reach.  A  longer  base  line  than  200  mill- 
ions of  miles  would  be  needed  to  continue  the  survey, 
and  unfortunately  the  resources  of  Astronomy  do  not  as 
yet  supply  any  that  are  available.  We  say  "  as  yet,"  for 
it  is  not  impossible  that  a  longer  base  may  at  some  dis* 
tant  future  day  be  found,  if,  as  is  almost  certain,  our  Sun 


The  Stars  of  Heaven.  6 1 

itself  is  moving  in  an  immense  orbit  round  something  in 
space,  and  carrying  along  with  it  the  whole  solar  system. 
The  diameter  of  the  Sun's  orbit  may  then  afford  a  base 
line  of  immensity  sufficient  to  conquer  the  difficulties  of 
distant  stellar  parallax.  Of  the  interval  which  would 
necessarily  elapse  between  the  observations  made  on  such 
a  base  no  one  can  now  imagine  the  duration. 

At  that  depth  in  the  firmament,  therefore,  where  Ca- 
pella  lies  —  representing  a  space  to  pass  through  which 
light  would  require  72  years  —  we  come  to  the  limit  of 
parallax.  With  it  ends  the  means  which  enable  star- 
measurements  to  be  placed  on  a  reliable  basis,  and  all 
beyond  is  subject  to  the  greatest  uncertainty.  Are,  then, 
our  estimates  of  the  distances  of  stars  sunk  farther  away 
in  space  than  Capella  to  be  absolute  guess-work  ?  By  no 
means,  thought  the  illustrious  Sir  W.  Herschel,  for  when 
parallax  can  plumb  no  longer,  light  still  affords  a  line 
which  measures  immensity  with  at  least  a  rough  approx- 
imation. It  is  true  that  this  method  sets  out  with  the 
hardy  assumption  that  the  size  and  illumination  of  the 
different  stars  are  the  same  ;  whereas  we  know  with  cer- 
tainty that  both  are  subject,  like  the  planets,  to  much 
variation.  Nevertheless  it  may,  perhaps,  be  assumed 
with  considerable  probability,  that  in  the  multitude  of 
stars  examined  there  must  at  least  be  some  to  which  such 
a  method  will  apply,  and  which  therefore  may  serve,  in 
the  absence  of  all  other  means,  as  a  rough  measure  of  the 
depths  of  space  beyond  Capella  to  which  the  eye  of  man 
can  penetrate.  All  are  familiar  with  the  fact  that  light 
diminishes  as  we  recede  from  it,  in  proportion  as  the 
square  of  the  distance  increases.  If,  for  example,  one 
luminous  body  be  twice  as  far  removed  as  another*  equally 
luminous  body,  it  will  give  four  times  less  light ;  if  it  be 
ten  times  as  far  off,  it  will  give  a  hundred  times  less  light, 
and  so  on  in  proportion.  Now  it  has  just  been  shown 
that  the  distance  of  a  Centauri,  an  average  star   of  the 


62  The  Stars  of  Heaven. 

ist  magnitude,  is  in  round  numbers  20  billions  of  miles, 
while  it  shines  with  an  amount  of  brightness  which,  by 
means  of  an  instrument  called  a  photometer,  can  be 
measured,  and  adopted  as  a  standard  from  which  to  set 
out.  A  star  of  the  6th  magnitude,  just  visible  to  the 
naked  eye,  is  found  to  have  a  light  100  times  less  bright 
than  a  Centauri ;  and,  therefore,  it  must  be  ten  times 
more  distant,  supposing  the  luminous  surface  to  be  the 
same  in  both.  We  have  now  got  a  second  standard  of 
measurement,  according  to  which  it  may  be  assumed  that 
a  star  having  a  brightness  which  we  can  just  discern  is 
200  billions  of  miles  distant.  Here  we  are,  for  a  moment, 
necessarily  brought  to  a  stop,  for  our  unaided  sight  is 
unable  to  force  its  way  farther  into  space  ;  and  here, 
therefore,  our  survey  must  have  come  to  an  end  but  for 
that  wonderful  "  tube,"  by  means  of  which  the  regions 
lying  beyond  have  been  fathomed  to  an  extent  that  almost 
overwhelms.  It  fortunately  happens  that  astronomers  can 
"  scale "  a  telescope,  according  to  what  is  termed  its 
"  space-penetrating  "  power.  When,  therefore,  it  is  said 
to  have  a  space-penetrating  power  of  50,  it  means  that  we 
can  see  with  it  50  times  farther  than  with  the  naked  eye  — ■ 
50  times  as  far,  therefore,  as  the  distance  lying  between 
us  and  the  star  of  the  6th  magnitude  which  has  just  been 
measured.  Sir  W.  Herschel,  whose  name  will  ever  be 
remembered  in  connection  with  this  subject,  penetrated 
into  space  75  times  farther  than  the  distance  which  sep- 
arates us  from  a  star  of  the  6th  magnitude,  by  which  he 
brought  stars  thus  deeply  sunk  in  space  to  shine  with  a 
brightness  equal  to  stars  of  that  class.  Now,  what  was 
the  stupendous  import  thereby  implied  ?  A  star  of  the 
6th  magnitude  is  at  least  10  times  more  distant  than  a 
Centauri,  its  distance,  therefore,  is  200  billions  of  miles  ; 
and  the  star  75  times  more  distant  than  the  star  of  the 
6th  magnitude  must  have  a  distance  of  not  less  than 
15,000  billions  of  miles  !     How  is  this  distance  to  be  ex- 


The  Stars  of  Heaven.  63 

pressed  by  an  intelligible  standard?  It  is  equal  to  170 
million  times  the  distance  of  the  Sun  from  the  Earth  — 
the  unit  being  92  millions  of  miles.  Told  off  by  terres- 
trial standards  these  figures  sound  vaguely  and  seem  to 
stupefy  the  ear,  nor  indeed  can  any  other  measure  than 
light  rise  to  the  level  of  such  distances.  It  is  astounding 
to  think  that  the  few  straggling  rays  of  light  which  at 
length  found  rest  in  HerschePs  eye  might  h^ve  left  their 
native  sun  2656  years  ago,  although  they  had  been  travel- 
ing at  the  rate  of  192,000  miles  a  second  ever  since.  The 
messenger  arrives  only  now,  but  he  speaks  of  an  old 
event.  "  It  is  within  the  scope  of  physical  possibility," 
says  Dr  Lardner,  "  that  those  stars  may  have  changed 
their  conditions  of  existence,  and  consequently  of  appear- 
ance, or  even  have  ceased  to  exist  altogether  more  than 
2000  years  ago,  although  we  actually  see  them  at  this  mo- 
ment." 

But  even  those  distances,  stupendous  though  they  be, 
do  not  represent  the  full  depth  of  that  fathoming  of  space 
which  has  possibly  been  effected  by  modern  instruments. 
What  shall  we  say  of  the  Nebulae  —  those  "  wisps  "  of 
cloudy  light  that  faintly  gleam  down  upon  us  through  the 
telescope  from  the  remotest  corners  of  the  Universe  to 
which  we  can  force  our  vision  ?  As  the  more  perfect  in- 
struments of  recent  days  conquered  their  secret,  one  after 
another,  and  resolved  the  hazy  cloudlets  into  clusters  of 
bright  stars,  the  conclusion  naturally  arose  that,  with  every 
new  increase  of  penetrating  power,  we  should  only  behold 
a  repetition  of  the  process.  There  do,  however,  appear 
to  be  some  Nebulae  which  cannot  be  so  resolved,  and 
which  show  no  indications  of  condensing  into  stars  ;  and 
"  spectrum  analysis  "  —  that  potent  discovery  of  yesterday, 
which  is  able  to  extract  from  a  ray  of  light  its  history  by 
passing  it  through  a  prism  —  comes  to  the  support  of  the 
telescope  by  declaring  that  such  distant  glimmers  are  due 
to  vast  volumes  of  luminous  gaseous  matter.     But,  mak- 


64  The  Stars  of  Heaven. 

ing  allowance  for  these,  there  still  remain  many  Nebulae 
of  true  stars  —  suns  like  the  rest,  heat-giving,  and  light 
giving,  and  animated  as  our  little  Earth  is  by  the  same 
universal  principle  of  gravitation.  A  certain  cluster  of 
stars  was  estimated  by  Sir  W.  Herschel  to  be  700  times 
the  distance  of  a  star  of  the  1st  magnitude  —  therefore, 
at  least  700  times  19  billions  of  miles  !  But,  observes 
Guillemin,  "  if  this  cluster  were  removed  to  five  times  its 
actual  distance,  that  is  to  say  to  3500  times  the  distance 
of  Sirius,  the  large  Herschelian  telescope  of  40-feet  focus 
would  still  show  it,  but  only  as  an  irresolvable  Nebula.  It 
is,  then,  extremely  probable  that,  among  the  many  Nebu- 
lae indecomposable  into  stars,  beyond  the  Milky  Way,  in 
the  depths  of  the  heavens,  many  are  as  distant  as  that  of 
which  we  speak.  Doubtless  many  are  more  so.  Now  to 
reach  us,  light-rays  must  have  left  stars  situated  at  such  a 
distance  more  than  700,000  years  ago  !  " 

On  such  a  subject  I  prefer  to  transcribe  words  recently 
written  by  an  astronomer,  and  they  at  least  claim  our  at- 
tention as  the  latest  conjectural  opinions  of  science.  That 
such  calculations  are  but  the  roughest  of  wide  approxima- 
tions —  that  they  are  liable  to  error  of  a  magnitude  which 
in  any  other  branch  of  physics  except  universe-measure- 
ment would  make  them  utterly  valueless,  is  a  point  ad- 
mitted by  none  more  readily  than  by  astronomers  them- 
selves. Still,  after  every  deduction  for  probable  error  has 
been  made,  more  than  enough  of  solid  truth  remains  to 
leave  our  highest  conceptions  hopelessly  stranded  behind, 
and  it  would  even  mock  our  power  of  belief  did  not  rea- 
son tell  us  that  such  conclusions  are  in  perfect  accordance 
with  the  attributes  of  Omnipotence.  When  we  have 
touched  the  verge  of  this  uttermost  range,  Infinity,  bound- 
less as  ever,  still  lies  beyond.  The  idea  of  God  extin- 
guishes in  our  mind  every  suspicion  that  there  can  be  any 
limit  to  space,  magnitude,  or  power,  in  relation  to  His 
works.     The  mighty  universe  we  have  been  considering 


The  Stars  of  Heaven.  65 

is  but  the  stepping-stone  to  what  is  farther  on  ;  and  al- 
though our  imagination  fails  to  grasp  it,  our  reason  assures 
us  that  it  must  be  so.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  taking 
from  or  adding  to  The  Illimitable. 

The  distance  of  the  stars  is  likewise  impressively  brought 
home  to  us  by  the  impossibility  of  magnifying  them.  It  is 
easy  to  magnify  terrestrial  objects,  and  even  when  the  tel- 
escope is  pointed  at  the  planets,  as  Venus  or  Jupiter,  they 
can  be  made  to  look  bigger  than  the  full  Moon.  But  with 
regard  to  the  stars  the  telescope  fails  to  increase  their  size, 
for  they  are  absolutely  "  unmagnifiable."  Viewed  by  the 
highest  powers  they  still  remain  mere  specks  of  light ;  and, 
although  their  comparative  brightness  is  increased,  no  one 
star  is  really  made  larger  than  another.  When,  therefore, 
the  "  magnitude  "  of  a  star  is  mentioned  it  refers  to  its 
brightness,  and  not  to  the  size  of  its  nucleus.  As  the  tele- 
scope cuts  off  the  external  rays,  its  effect,  indeed,  is  rather 
to  diminish  than  enlarge,  and  Herschel  used  to  affirm  that 
the  more  he  magnified  the  more  the  nucleus  appeared  to 
shrink  to  a  point.  But  as  the  faithful  telescope,  by  virtue 
of  its  construction,  cannot  help  magnifying  the  image  of 
the  star  presented  to  it,  and  yet  fails  to  give  it  any  appre- 
ciable size,  we  are  driven  to  infer  that  even  the  nearest 
stars  are  so  remote  that  their  apparent  magnitude  is  too 
minute  to  be  perceived  by  the  eye,  though  magnified,  as 
was  done  by  Sir  W.  Herschel,  six  thousand  times. 

This  result  appears  all  the  more  astonishing  when  we 
consider  the  vast  magnitude  which  the  stars  must  really 
possess.  As  they  do  not  form  any  distinguishable  disk,  it 
is  of  course  impossible  to  calculate  their  size  from  their 
known  distance  and  apparent  diameter,  as  may  be  done  in 
the  case  of  the  Moon  ;  but  astronomers  possess  other 
means  by  which  their  magnitude  may  be  at  least  roughly 
estimated.  It  has  been  already  mentioned  that,  as  we 
recede  from  a  luminous  surface,  the  quantity  of  light  re- 
ceived from  it  diminishes  as  the  square  of  the  distance  in- 
5 


66  The  Stars  of  Heaven. 

creases.  By  applying  this  principle,  the  Sun  furnishes  us 
with  a  means  of  measuring  the  magnitude  of  stars,  always 
assuming,  as  may  be  done  when  the  trial  is  extended  over 
a  great  number,  that  the  average  intensity  of  the  luminous 
suiface  is  nearly  the  same  in  both.  We  know  that  the 
Sun,  being  of  a  known  size  and  at  a  known  distance,  gives 
a  certain  amount  of  light  as  determined  by  the  photome- 
ter. Supposing  that  the  Sun  were  to  be  moved  away  from 
us  in  the  direction  of  a  Centauri,  his  light  would  diminish 
in  the  proportion  in  which  the  square  of  the  distance  in- 
creased ;  and,  accordingly,  before  he  had  got  much  more 
than  half  way,  he  would  have  dwindled  to  the  size  of  a 
Centauri.  If  the  Sun  were  to  be  farther  removed,  his 
brightness  would  go  on  diminishing  until  at  the  distance 
of  a  Centauri —  19  billions  of  miles  —  he  would  shine  as 
a  star  of  the  2d  magnitude,  or  like  the  Pole-star.  Thus 
it  appears,  that  in  order  to  enable  the  Sun  to  shine  with  a 
light  equal  to  that  of  a  Centauri  at  the  same  distance  as 
that  star,  he  would  require  to  be  twice  his  actual  size ; 
and,  therefore,  the  magnitude  of  a  Centauri  may  be 
roughly  estimated  as  double  that  of  our  Sun. 

In  contemplating  "  the  Stars  of  Heaven  "  by  the  aids 
which  Astronomy  holds  out  to  us,  our  thoughts  are  carried 
away  from  the  small  things  of  this  Earth,  and,  borne  on- 
ward by  the  faculties  bestowed  on  us  by  God,  we  reach 
our  highest  practical  perceptions  of  His  Power  as  Creator 
and  Ruler  of  the  Universe.  We  cannot,  it  is  true,  com- 
prehend The  Infinite,  but  Astronomy  stations  us  nearer 
to  its  frontier  than  any  other  science,  and  we  are  only 
stopped  in  our  conceptions  by  that  barrier  which  subdues 
all  human  intellect,  and  beyond  which  it  is  not  intended 
that  we  should  pass. 

Not  less  marvelous  are  the  stars  in  their  velocities. 
We  speak  of  them  as  the  "  fixed  "  stars,  and  so  they  are 
to  us  for  all  practical  purposes  ;  yet  some,  if  not  all,  have 
a  movement  through   space.     Binary  stars,   as  we  have 


The  Stars  of  Heaven.  67 

seen,  circulate  in  orbits  round  each  other,  or  round  a  com- 
mon centre,  with  a  regularity  and  speed  which  in  some  in- 
stances has  been  calculated.  The  star  61  Cygni — the 
same  whose  parallax  has  been  measured  —  rushes  through 
space  with  the  enormous  velocity  of  177,000  miles  an 
hour ;  while  Mercury,  the  swiftest  of  our  planets,  does  not 
exceed  100,000  miles  in  the  same  time.  A  star  in  the  con- 
stellation of  Ophiuchus,  and  another  in  the  Scorpion,  are 
moving  on  so  rapidly  as  to  leave  neighboring  stars  behind 
them.  There  is  a  triple  star  in  Cassiopeia  journeying 
through  the  heavens  at  the  rate  of  125,000  miles  an  hour. 
Arcturus  is  the  most  rapid  star-traveler  yet  discovered, 
moving  onward  at  a  pace  equal  to  54  miles  per  second,  or 
three  times  faster  than  our  Earth  in  its  orbit.  Thus  every 
thing  connected  with  the  stars  —  distance,  magnitude,  and 
motion  —  is  equally  gigantic  and  marvelous  in  its  scale. 

Having  glanced  at  the  distances,  magnitudes,  and  veloc- 
ities of  stars,  let  us  pause  for  a  moment  to  consider  their 
number  and  the  vast  space  they  must  necessarily  occupy 
in  the  domain  of  creation.  In  an  area  of  the  Milky  Way 
not  exceeding  one  tenth  part  of  the  moon's  disk  Herschel 
computed  that  there  were  at  least  20,000  stars,  and  by  the 
most  moderate  estimate  the  number  of  stars  that  can  be 
counted  in  the  firmament  by  telescopic  aid  does  not  fall 
short  of  100  millions!  Clusters  and  Nebulae  that  have 
not  yet  been  resolved  lie  beyond.  There  is  little  doubt 
that  most  of  those  twinkling  points  are  suns  dispensing 
light  and  heat  to  earths  or  planets  like  our  own  ;  and,  in- 
deed, no  bodies  shining  by  reflected  light  would  be  visible 
at  such  enormous  distances.  From  the  superior  magni- 
tude of  those  stars  that  have  been  measured,  as  compared 
to  our  Sun,  it  may  be  assumed  that  the  average  diameter 
of  their  solar  systems  must  exceed  our  own  ;  but,  taking 
it  as  nearly  equal,  it  would  give  a  breadth  of  at  least  6000 
millions  of  miles  as  the  field  in  space  occupied  by  each. 
Every  star  or  sun-system  is,    moreover,  probably  begirt 


68  The  Stars  of  Heaven. 

with  a  gulf  or  void  like  that  encircling  our  own,  in  which 
the  antagonistic  or  disturbing  attractions  of  surrounding 
suns  waste  themselves  out  and  are  extinguished  ;  hence, 
the  distance  of  each  star  from  its  nearest  neighbor  is 
probably  not  less  than  that  which  intervenes  between  our 
Sun  and  the  nearest  star.  Now  this  distance,  as  we  have 
seen,  cannot  be  less  than  19  billions  of  miles.  How  in- 
conceivably vast,  therefore,  must  be  the  space  required  to 
give  room  for  so  many  and  such  stupendous  solar  sys- 
tems. The  mind  absolutely  reels  under  the  load  of  con- 
ceptions so  mighty,     Yet  Infinity  still  lies  beyond  ! 

Among  those  great  Hosts  of  heaven  where  is  the  home 
of  our  Earth  and  Solar  system  ?  A  probability  lying 
nearer  to  certainty  than  conjecture  suggests  that  our  Sun, 
with  its  planetary  system,  forms  a  unit  in  a  cluster  of  stars, 
similar  to  other  clusters  which  we  see  gathered  together  in 
the  far-off  regions  of  the  firmament.  The  space  occupied 
by  our  cluster  may  in  shape  be  compared  to  a  millstone, 
of  which  the  Milky  Way  forms  the  outer  rim  ;  while 
nearly  in  the  centre  of  this  gigantic  assemblage  of  stars, 
and  about  half-way  between  the  two  sides  of  "  the  mill- 
stone "  rests  our  Sun  and  its  planets  —  "  an  atom  in  the 
luminous  sand  "  of  the  firmament. 

Still,  we  must  not  say  rests,  for  there  is  absolutely  noth- 
ing on  Earth  or  in  the  firmament  which  is  without  move- 
ment. That  our  Sun  —  like  all  his  fellow-stars  —  is  trav- 
eling through  space  with  a  speed  which  though  not  yet 
determined  is  certainly  immense,  is  a  point  on  which  as- 
tronomers are  agreed.  The  most  recent  calculations  as- 
sign to  it  a  rate  of  four  miles  per  second.  Whither  are 
we  hurrying,  round  what  are  we  moving  ?  These  are 
problems  of  which  the  solution  is  left  to  future  observers, 
yet  even  now  calculations  tend  to  indicate  that  we  are 
hastening  on  with  rapid  strides  in  the  direction  of  the 
constellation  Hercules.  Who  has  not  looked  on  clear 
nights  at  the  twinkling   Pleiades,  and  tried,  perhaps,  to 


The  Stars  of  Heaven.  69 

count  their  sparkles  as  they  glitter  like  diamonds  on  a 
field  of  black.  Their  name  recalls  to  us  a  heathen  fable, 
but  they  have  an  interest  far  more  lasting  and  reasonable 
if  it  be  true,  as  astronomers  conjecture,  that  among  them 
is  fixed  the  pivot  which  is  central  to  the  centre,  and  round 
which  our  Sun  with  its  system  careers  in  an  orbit  whose 
length  it  is  as  impossible  for  us  to  conceive  as  the  distance 
of  the  stars  themselves. 

If  Astronomy  were  altogether  silent  on  the  subject,  it 
would  still  be  a  hard  matter  for  a  reflecting  mind  to  be- 
lieve that  the  masses  which  fill  up  space,  the  aggregate 
sum  of  which  dwarfs  our  Earth  into  less  than  an  atom  or 
a  speck,  can  have  been  created  for  no  other  purpose  than 
to  shed  a  glimmer  of  star-light  on  our  dark  evenings. 
"  For  what  purpose,"  says  Sir  John  Herschel,  "  are  we  to 
suppose  such  magnificent  bodies  scattered  through  the 
abyss  of  space  ?  Surely  not  to  illumine  our  nights,  which 
an  additional  moon  of  the  thousandth  part  of  the  size  of  our 
own  would  do  much  better  —  not  to  sparkle  as  a  pageant 
void  of  meaning  and  reality,  and  to  bewilder  us  among 
vain  conjectures.  Useful,  it  is  true,  they  are  to  man,  as 
.points  of  exact  and  permanent  reference  ;  but  he  must 
have  studied  Astronomy  to  little  purpose,  who  can  sup- 
pose man  to  be  the  only  object  of  his  Creator's  care,  or 
who  does  not  see,  in  the  vast  and  wonderful  apparatus 
around  us,  provision  for  other  races  of  animated  beings." 

Though  placed  at  such  inconceivable  distances  from 
our  Earth,  stars  are  yet  near  enough  to  contribute  to  the 
happiness  and  safety  of  mankind.  During  the  Sun's .  ab- 
sence they  bestow  an  illumination  which,  though  feeble,  is 
highly  useful.  When  the  Moon  has  forsaken  the  long 
polar  night  they  cast  a  dim  twilight  over  the  snow.  In 
the  deserts  of  the  East,  stars  have  served  to  guide  the 
traveler  since  those  ancient  days  when  Astronomy  began 
to  be  cultivated  on  the  plains  of  Chaldea.  The  pilots  of 
antiquity  learnt  to  steer  by  the  stars  before  the  loadstone 


7<D  The  Stars  of  Heaven. 

was  discovered  ;  and,  in  these  days  of  science,  Sun,  Moon, 
and  Stars  may  be  said  to  cover  the  firmament  with  lamps 
and  sign-posts.  Familiarity  with  the  fact  has  long  dulled 
within  us  the  feeling  of  surprise  ;  still  it  is  a  wonderful 
thing  to  think  that,  in  the  most  lonely  spots  of  the  track- 
less ocean,  the  position  of  a  ship  can  be  told  with  accu- 
racy by  questioning  the  aspects  of  the  heavenly  bodies. 
By  means  of  Sun,  Moon,  and  Stars,  aided  by  a  chronometer 
keeping  Greenwich  time,  or  by  the  "  Nautical  Almanac," 
both  latitude  and  longitude  may  be  certainly  determined. 
To  these  aids  every  ship  that  sails  upon  the  wide  ocean  is 
daily  indebted  for  safety,  nor  could  any  thing  bring  home 
to  us  more  strikingly  how  even  the  most  remote  works  of 
Our  Father  are  made  by  his  providence  to  subserve  the 
welfare  of  His  children. 

With  what  just  propriety  of  thought  has  light  been 
called  the  "voice"  of  the  stars.  Through  light  alone 
comes  all  the  knowledge  we  possess  concerning  them. 
Had  light  been  created  with  less  marvelous  properties 
than  those  it  actually  possesses,  even  their  existence 
would  have  been  unknown  to  us.  Can  any  thing  be  con- 
ceived more  suggestively  true  than  the  expressions  with 
which  the  Heavens  are  described  by  the  Psalmist  ? 

There  is  neither  speech  nor  language,  but  their  voices  are  heard  among 

them. 
Their  sound  is  gone  out  into  all  lands,  and  their  words  unto  the  ends  of 

the  earth ! 

In  the  "  speechless  "  voice  of  light  the  stars  proclaim  to 
us  from  the  depths  of  space  the  existence  of  innumerable 
other  worlds  which,  like  our  own,  share  the  Creator's  care. 
Silently  they  tell  us  of  distances,  magnitudes,  and  veloci- 
ties which  transcend  our  power  to  conceive.  With  mute 
argument  stars  prove  to  us  that,  in  those  far-off  regions, 
gravitation  —  the  power  that  brings  the  apple  to  the 
ground  —  still  reigns  supreme,  and  with  suggestive  whis- 
pers of  probability  they  persuade  us  that,  like  our   own 


The  Stars  of  Heaven.  Ji 

bountiful  Sun,  they  bathe  attendant  worlds  in  floods  of 
brightest  light,  deck  them  in  colors  of  beauty,  and  shower 
countless  blessings  on  the  life  of  myriads  of  beings. 

He  who  by  thoughtful  contemplation  has  familiarized 
his  mind  with  the  wonders  of  the  Heavens  will  feel  his 
whole  spirit  imbued  with  the  glory  of  the  Great  Architect, 
by  whose  Almighty  Word  they  were  called  into  existence. 
To  him  Sun,  Moon,  and  Stars,  silent  though  they  be,  will 
speak  a  language  which  he  will  ever  deeply  feel  even 
though  he  may  not  always  comprehend.  Nor  will  they 
fail,  when  solemnly  invoked  in  the  Service  of  the  Church, 
to  stir  up  responsive  adoration  in  his  heart,  for  they  sym- 
bolize to  him  more  than  any  other  visible  objects  the 
Wisdom  and  Power  of  the  Creator. 

Whoso  is  wise  will  ponder  these   things,  and  they  shall  undc  rstand  tht 
loving-kindness  of  the  Lord.  —  Ps.  xcvii. 


WINTER   AND   SUMMER. 


O  ye  Winter  and  Summer,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise  Him,  and 
magnify  Him  for  ever. 


HE  great  Architect  has  appointed  that  the  earth, 
like  its  fellow-planets,  should   make    an    annual 
journey  round  the  sun  in  a  path  which  is  not  far 
circular.     During  this  time  the  earth   is  separated 


from 


from  the  central  luminary  of  our  system  by  a  mean  dis- 
tance of  92  millions  of  miles,  which  has  been  designedly 
fixed  as  securing  to  it  the  reception  of  that  exact  amount 
of  heat  and  light  which  is  best  suited  to  the  requirements 
of  all  the  beings  found  upon  it.  Any  other  distance  than 
this  would,  in  fact,  have  been  incompatible  with  the  order 
of  life  we  see  established  around  us.  But,  besides  this 
general  arrangement  as  to  distance,  there  are  certain  mod- 
ifications in  connection  with  it  which  affect  most  remarka- 
bly the  local  distribution  of  heat  over  the  globe,  giving  rise 
to  seasonal  variations  —  to  Winter  and  Summer,  and  to 
differences  of  climate.  In  looking  at  an  astronomical  dia- 
gram it  will  be  remarked  that  the  sun  is  placed,  not  in  the 
centre,  but  in  one  of  the  foci  of  the  ellipse  which  the  earth's 
orbit  describes  round  it ;  and  the  result  of  this  necessa- 
rily is  that  the  earth  is  nearer  to  the  sun  at  one  period  of 
the  year  than  it  is  at  another.  The  conclusion  is*  naturally 
suggested  that  this  period  of  "  nearness  "  must  coincide 
with  Summer,  and  that  of  distance  with  Winter  ;  but, 
strange  though  it  may  appear,  it  is  exactly  the  reverse. 
On  the  1st  January  the  earth  is  about  one  thirtieth  part 
nearer  the  sun  than  it  is  on  the  21st  June. 


Winter  and  Summer.  73 

It  is  clear,  therefore,  that  the  cold  of  Winter  and  the 
heat  of  Summer  must  depend  on  other  causes  acting  with 
power  sufficient  to  overbalance  the  effect  which  this  rel- 
ative nearness  or  distance  of  the  sun  ought  naturally  to 
produce.  Such  a  cause  is  found  in  the  inclination  of  the 
earth's  axis  to  the  plane  of  its  orbit.  The  effect  of  this 
arrangement  can  be  easily  illustrated  by  an  impromptu 
orrery.  Let  a  card  placed  near  the  centre  of  a  round 
table  represent  the  sun  ;  a  ball  of  worsted  will  be  the 
earth,  and  a  knitting-needle  thrust  through  its  centre  will 
form  its  axis  and  poles.  The  rim  of  the  table  conven- 
iently traces  the  earth's  orbit  round  the  sun,  while  the  flat 
surface  forms  the  imaginary  "  plane,"  on  a  level  with 
which  the  centre  of  the  sun  and  earth  are  supposed  to  be 
arranged.  The  earth's  axis,  it  must  be  recollected,  is  not 
perpendicular  to  this  plane  —  not  straight  up  and  down 
—  but  is  inclined  toward,  or  leans  upon,  it  at  an  angle 
of  23^-  degrees.  If  we  now  apply  the  centre  of  the 
worsted  ball,  or  earth,  against  the  rim  of  the  table  at  the 
point  farthest  removed  from  the  sun,  giving  the  knitting- 
needle,  or  axis,  an  inclination  toward  the  sun  to  the 
amount  specified  ;  and  if  we  then  slide  it  round  the  rim, 
taking  care  not  to  alter  the  direction  of  the  inclination, 
and  to  make  the  needle  always  maintain  the  same  parallel 
throughout,  we  have  a  rough  imitation  of  the  orbit  which 
the  earth  describes  in  its  annual  journey  round  the  sun. 

But  let  us  draw  attention  more  particularly  to  the  point 
of  this  arrangement  on  which  the  alternation  of  Summei 
and  Winter  depends.  If,  on  starting  from  that  part  of  the 
rim  of  the  table  which  is  farthest  from  the  "  sun,"  the 
upper  or  north  "  pole  "  of  the  worsted  ball  be  inclined 
toward  that  luminary,  it  will  be  found  that  on  arriving  at 
the  side  of  the  table  exactly  opposite  —  and  nearest  to  the 
sun  —  the  same  "  north  pole  "  is  now  inclined  away  from 
it.  Exactly  the  reverse  of  this  has,  of  course,  happened  to 
the  "  south  pole  •  "  it  inclined  at  first  from,  but  now  in 


74  Winter  and  Summer. 

clines  toward  the  sun.  The  necessary  effect  of  these 
changes  of  position  is  to  place  that  side  of  the  earth, 
which  for  the  time  being  leans  toward  the  sun,  in  a  more 
favorable  position  for  receiving  light  and  heat  than  the 
side  which  is  inclined  away  from  it.  The  result  thus  pro- 
duced upon  the  temperature  much  more  than  compensates 
for  the  heat  either  gained  or  lost  on  account  of  the  com- 
parative nearness  or  distance  of  the  earth  in  relation  to 
the  sun  at  the  two  periods  of  the  year,  and  it  therefore 
rules  the  seasons.  In  the  hemisphere  which  is  inclined 
toward  the  sun  there  is  Summer  ;  while,  in  that  which  is 
inclined  away  from  it,  there  is  Winter.  Every  body  knows 
that  when  it  is  Summer  in  England  it  is  Winter  at  the 
Antipodes. 

When  we  consider  the  forethought  with  which  the  con- 
ditions of  animal  and  vegetable  life  have  been  adjusted  to 
the  distance  of  the  earth  from  the  sun  —  to  their  respect- 
ive sizes  and  densities  —  to  the  length  of  the  earth's  orbit 
—  to  the  velocity  with  which  it  travels,  and  to  the  nicely 
poised  inclination  of  its  axis  —  we  cannot  fail  to  be  deeply 
impressed  with  the  admirable  design  of  the  Creator  and 
the  excellence  of  His  Power.  All  these  elements  had  to 
be  adjusted,  one  with  the  other,  in  order  to  establish  Win- 
ter and  Summer,  and  the  least  deviation  in  any  of  them 
from  the  condition  which  actually  exists  would  have  spoilt 
the  harmonious  working  of  the  whole.  The  beauty  and 
necessity  of  these  arrangements  have  been  happily  illus- 
trated by  Dr.  Whewell :  "  The  length  of  the  year  or  inter- 
nal of  recurrence  of  the  seasons  is  determined  by  the  time 
which  the  earth  employs  in  performing  its  revolution  round 
the  sun :  and  we  can  very  easily  conceive  the  solar  system 
so  adjusted  that  the  year  should  be  longer  or  shorter  than 
it  actually  is.  We  can  imagine  the  earth  to  revolve  round 
the  sun  at  a  distance  greater  or  less  than  that  which  it  at 
present  has,  all  the  forces  of  the  system  remaining  unal- 
tered.    If  the  earth  were  removed  toward  the  centre  by 


Winter  and  Summer.  75 

about  one  eighth  of  its  distance,  the  year  would  be  dimin- 
ished by  about  a  month,  and  in  the  same  manner  it  would 
be  increased  by  a  month  on  increasing  the  distance  by 
one  eighth.  We  can  suppose  the  earth  at  a  distance  of 
eighty  four  or  one  hundred  and  eight  millions  of  miles, 
just  as  easily  as  at  its  present  distance  of  ninety-six  mill- 
ions :  we  can  suppose  the  earth  with  its  present  stock  of 
animals  and  vegetables  placed  where  Mars  or  where 
Venus  is,  and  revolving  in  an  orbit  like  one  of  theirs ;  on 
the  former  supposition  our  year  would  become  twenty- 
three,  on  the  latter,  seven  of  our  present  months.  Or  we 
can  conceive  the  present  distances  of  the  parts  of  the  sys- 
tem to  continue  what  they  are,  and  the  size,  or  the  density 
of  the  central  mass,  the  sun,  to  be  increased  or  diminished 
in  any  proportion ;  and  in  this  way  the  time  of  the  earth's 
revolution  might  have  been  increased  or  diminished  in 
any  degree  ;  a  greater  velocity,  and  consequently  a  dimin- 
ished period,  being  requisite  in  order  to  balance  an  aug- 
mented central  attraction.  In  any  of  these  ways  the 
length  of  the  earth's  natural  year  might  have  been  differ- 
ent from  what  it  now  is  :  in  the  last  way  without  any  ne- 
cessary alteration,  so  far  as  we  can  see,  of  temperature. 
Now,  if  any  change  of  this  kind  were  to  take  place,  the 
working  of  the  botanical  world  would  be  thrown  into 
utter  disorder,  the  functions  of  plants  would  be  entirely 
deranged,  and  the  whole  vegetable  kingdom  involved  in 
instant  decay  and  rapid  extinction.  That  this  would  be 
the  case,  may  be  collected  from  innumerable  indications. 
Most  of  our  fruit-trees,  for  example,  require  the  year  to  be 
of  its  present  length.  If  the  Summer  and  the  Autumn 
were  much  shorter,  the  fruit  could  not  ripen  ;  if  these  sea- 
sons were  much  longer,  the  tree  would  put  forth  a  fresh 
suit  of  blossoms  to  be  cut  down  by  the  Winter.  Or  if  the 
year  were  twice  its  present  length,  a  second  crop  of  fruit 
would  probably  not  be  matured,  for  want,  among  other 
things,  of  an  intermediate  season  of  rest  and  consolidation, 


76  Winter  and  Summer. 

such  as  the  Winter  is.  Our  forest-trees,  in  like  manner, 
appear  to  need  all  the  seasons  of  our  present  year  for 
their  perfection  ;  the  Spring,  Summer,  and  Autumn,  for 
the  development  of  their  leaves  and  consequent  formation 
of  their  proper  juice,  and  of  wood  from  this  ;  and  the 
Winter  for  the  hardening  and  solidifying  the  substance 
thus  formed." 

As  a  general  rule  it  may  be  said  that  temperature  falls 
in  proportion  to  increase  of  latitude ;  at  first  slowly,  and 
then  more  rapidly.  Our  daily  experience  of  midday  sun 
and  sunset  teaches  us  that  oblique  rays  give  much  less 
heat  than  those  that  are  more  nearly  vertical  ;  and  as  the 
earth  is  round,  and  as  rays  from  the  sun,  therefore,  fall 
on  it  all  the  more  obliquely  the  greater  the  distance  is 
from  the  Equator,  it  follows  that  in  high  latitudes,  where 
the  globe  from  its  shape  curves  in  rapidly  toward  the 
poles,  the  temperature  will  fall  with  accelerated  ratio. 

Such  is  the  cosmical  arrangement  by  which  the  general 
supply  of  heat  is  meted  out  to  the  earth,  but  there  are 
many  circumstances  which  modify  this  distribution,  so  as 
to  produce  great  differences  of  climate  in  places  that  are 
on  nearly  the  same  latitude.  Thus,  in  proceeding  north- 
ward from  the  tropics,  the  mean*  annual  temperature  falls 
much  more  quickly  in  America  than  in  Europe.  For  ex- 
ample, the  cities  of  Madrid  and  Philadelphia  are  both 
situated  at  nearly  40  degrees  of  latitude  ;  but  the  mean 
annual  climate  of  the  former  is  90  higher  than  that  of  the 
American  city.  In  comparing  places  farther  to  the  north 
the  difference  is  still  more  striking. 

We  have  space  in  this  chapter  to  notice  only  very 
briefly  some  of  the  causes  which  modify  climate.  The 
reader  will  find  many  additional  observations  bearing  on 
this  subject  in  those  sections  of  this  book  wherein  Moun- 
tains, Winds,  Ice  and  Snow,  the  Sea,  and  the  Green 
things  upon  the  earth  are  considered. 

The  great  equalizer  and  mitigator  of  extremes  of  heat 


Winter  a?id  Summer.  yy 

and  cold  is  the  ocean.  A  maritime  climate  is  for  the  most 
part  moderate  in  its  seasonal  changes,  in  comparison  to 
an  inland  climate  on  the  same  latitude.  In  Winter,  the 
sea  being  warmer  than  the  land,  tempers  the  winds  which 
blow  toward  it ;  while,  in  Summer,  as  its  temperature  is 
lower  than  the  heated  surface  of  the  shore,  it  imparts  fresh 
coolness  to  the  breezes.  Warm  or  cold  ocean  current's, 
if  they  be  extensive,  have  much  influence  on  climate. 
Thus  the  great  Gulf  Stream,  laden  with  the  heat  of  the 
Tropics,  by  laving  the  shores  of  Western  Europe,  and 
more  especially  those  of  our  own  islands,  sensibly  moder- 
ates the  rigor  of  the  Winter ;  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  cold  current  from  the  Greenland  Sea  and  Baffin's  Bay, 
which  streams  past  Newfoundland  and  the  Atlantic  shore 
of  North  America,  materially  lowers  the  climatic  tempera- 
ture of  those  countries. 

As  a  general  rule,  the  effect  of  a  deep  inland  or  con- 
tinental position  in  temperate  regions  is  to  give  what  is 
called  an  "  extreme  "  character  to  the  climate,  —  that  is, 
to  make  it  colder  in  Winter  and  hotter  in  Summer  than 
other  places  on  the  same  parallel  of  latitude  which  are 
surrounded  by  or  near  the  sea.  To  illustrate  this  point, 
the  climate  of  Warsaw  in  nearly  520  13'  may  be  contrasted 
with  that  of  Dublin  in  530  21'.  Warsaw  lies  on  the  great 
plain  of  Central  Europe.  In  Winter,  the  surface  over  a 
wide  tract  around  loses  its  temperature  under  the  in- 
fluence- of  the  long  nights  and  keen  frosts,  while  there  is 
no  neighboring  sea  to  mitigate  the  cold.  Had  the  ocean 
been  near,  as  its  tamperature  does  not  fall  under  400  Fah- 
renheit, it  would  have  corrected  this  rigor  ;  but,  instead 
of  the  comparatively  warm  sea,  there  is  an  extensive  land 
surface,  which,  being  cooled  down  far  below  the  freezing 
point,  imparts  to  the  air  passing  over  Warsaw  much  of  its 
own  intense  rigor.  Dublin,  on  the  other  han  1,  by  having 
a  maritime  position,  enjoys  during  the  WTinter  a  far  milder 
climate,  although  it  lies  more  than  a  degree  farther  north. 


78  Winter  and  Summer. 

The  temperature  of  its  coldest  month  does  not  fall  below 
a  mean  of  370,  while  that  of  Warsaw  sinks  to  27  degrees. 
In  Summer,  however,  the  same  physical  conditions  pro- 
duce exactly  the  contrary  effect.     The  sandy  plains  round 
Warsaw  get  baked  in  the  sun,  and  the  air  in  passing  over 
them  is  heated  as  in  an  oven  ;  but  round  Dublin  there  are 
no  scorched   plains,  and   the  sea   that  encircles    Ireland 
tends  still  further  to  cool  the  temperature.     Hence,  while 
the  mean  of  the  hottest  month  at  Warsaw  is  700,  that  of 
Dublin  is  only  6o°.     Thus  Warsaw  is   10  degrees  colder 
than  Dublin  in  Winter,  and  10  degrees  hotter  in  Summer. 
To  similar  causes  is  to  be  attributed  the  extreme  char- 
acter of  the  climate  throughout  the  greater  part  of  North 
America.     At  New  York,  for  example,  the  thermometer  in 
Summer  often  rises  to  above  ioo°  in  the  shade  ;  while  dur- 
ing the  Winter  of  1866    it   fell    to    150  below   zero,    and 
marked  2 8°  in  places  more  inland.     The  explanation  of 
this  excessive  rigor  is  that  most  of  this  vast  continent  lies 
far  from  the  sea,  while  it  stretches  in  unbroken  continua- 
tion into  the  frozen   regions.     In  the    same  way  Central 
Asia  chiefly  owes   its  "  extreme  "    climate  to  its  distance 
from  the  ocean. 

Although  there  be  no  Winter  or  Summer  within  the 
tropics  and  in  certain  adjacent  districts  in  the  sense  in 
which  we  understand  them,  there  is  nevertheless  a  division 
of  the  year  into  "  wet  and  dry  "  periods,  which,  in  their 
influence  on  the  functions  of  animal  and  more  especially 
of  vegetable  life,  have  effects  analogous  to  those  produced 
by  the  warm  and  cold  seasons  of  higher  latitudes.  In  the 
wet  season  vegetation  is  most  vigorous  ;  but,  after  the 
dry  season  has  continued  for  some  time,  the  grass  withers 
and  dries  up,  the  deciduous  leaves  fall,  the  growth  of 
plants  is  arrested,  and  the  vegetable  world  reposes  very 
much  as  in  the  Winter  of  more  northern  climes.  The 
analogy  between  these  seasons  is  still  more  strikingly 
shown  by  the  torpor  into  which  some  animals  fall  during 


Winter  and  Summer.  79 

the  dry  season,  just  as  elsewhere  they  pass  into  a  state  of 
hibernation  during  the  Winter.  Thus  when  that  reptile- 
looking  fish,  the  Lepidosiren  of  the  river  Gambia,  per- 
ceives that  the  waters  are  falling  on  the  approach  of  the 
dry  season,  and  that  food  is  becoming  scarce,  it  buries 
itself  in  the  mud,  and  there  awaits  in  a  dormant  state  the 
return  of  the  rains.  Sir  J.  E.  Tennent  has  noticed  other 
animals  in  Ceylon  which  become  torpid  during  the  dry 
season  in  the  mud  of  the  great  water-tanks,  and  more  ex- 
tended observation  will  probably  add  to  the  list. 

Nowhere,  from  the  force  of  contrast,  is  Summer  more 
brilliantly  joyous  or  its  approach  welcomed  with  greater 
delight,  than  in  polar  regions,  where  amid  perennial  frost 
and  snow  Winter  seems  to  be  enthroned  for  ever.  The 
long,  continuous  night,  after  passing  through  a  tedious 
dawn,  at  length  opens  into  that  bright,  brief  interval  in 
which  Spring,  Summer,  and  Autumn  are  blended  into  one. 
In  rays  of  warmth  the  sun  sends  forth  the  signal,  and 
Nature  promptly  answers  to  the  call.  As  heat  increases, 
the  solitude  once  more  shows  signs  of  life  and  movement. 
The  frozen  lumps  and  ledges  covering  the  sea  begin  to 
strain  and  crack  and  split  asunder,  and  glacier  masses 
breaking  loose  from  their  icy  cables  yield  themselves  up 
to  the  current  and  the  wind.  Food  is  no  longer  abso- 
lutely wanting,  and  many  creatures  that  have  been  slum- 
bering through  the  Winter  now  shake  off  their  torpor. 
Torpor  enforced,  but  merciful !  As  Winter  approached, 
supplies  of  food  ran  short  and  then  became  exhausted,  so 
God  in  kindness  sent  them  sleep.  Hunger  was  extin- 
guished in  lethargy.  It  was  needful  to  husband  the  forces 
of  vitality  until  the  time  of  abundance  should  again  come 
round  ;  so  the  heart  was  made  to  beat,  and  the  lungs  to 
breathe,  at  the  lowest  rate  that  was  compatible  with  ex 
istence.  The  expenditure  of  fuel  to  maintain  animal 
warmth  was  thus  brought  down  to  its  minimum,  and  the 
lamp  of  life  was  sparingly  fed  with  the  fat  whicr  Nature 


8o  Winter  and  Summer. 

had  providentially  stored  up  in  the  body  when  food  was 
plenty.  But  now,  called  forth  by  light  and  warmth,  the 
bear  creeps  from  its  lair  of  snow,  and  seals  and  walruses 
begin  to  gambol  round  the  rocks  where  lately  solid  ice 
sealed  up  the  surface  of  the  deep.  Myriads  of  migratory 
waterfowl  from  the  warm  South  whiten  the  in-shore  cliffs. 
Then  the  Esquimau,  rousing  himself  from  the  enforced 
idleness  of  the  long  night,  sallies  forth  to  hunt  and  fish, 
and  to  gather  up  supplies  of  food  in  snow-built  safes 
against  the  never-distant  Winter.  The  short,  thick  grass 
and  moss  spread  their  carpet  of  green  over  every  sheltered 
spot  from  which  the  snow  has  melted,  and  the  rest  of  the 
scanty  but  often  brightsome  flora  of  remotest  North  puts 
on  with  marvelous  rapidity  its  Summer  aspects. 

Diversity  of  climate  and  season  —  of  Winter  and  Sum- 
mer —  over  the  globe  has  produced  for  man's  advantage  a 
corresponding  variety  of  animal  and  vegetable  life.  Man 
himself  has  an  organic  strength  which  enables  him  to 
exist  in  every  clime  ;'  but  other  animals,  and  all  plants, 
have  a  more  limited  geographical  distribution,  and  are 
endowed  with  constitutions  which  fit  them  for  thriving  in 
certain  regions  only.  By  means  of  commerce,  however, 
the  short-comings  of  one  climate»are  supplemented  by  the 
riches  of  another,  and  all  the  most  useful  productions 
growing  upon  the  earth  are  thus  most  widely  scattered. 
This  necessary  interchange,  moreover,  becomes  a  means  of 
knitting  the  whole  world  in  bonds  of  mutual  dependence. 
We  may  rest  assured  that  nothing  in  Nature  has  been 
established  without  benevolent  design,  and  even  the  dif- 
ficulties arising  from  the  proverbial  uncertainties  of  cli- 
mate, as  well  as  the  impediments  encountered  in  the  cul- 
tivation of  the  soil,  are  not  without  their  use.  Every 
thing  shows  that  we  are  here  as  in  a  training  school,  and 
surrounded  by  circumstances  which,  by  demanding  the 
energetic  exercise  of  our  faculties,  tend  to  preserve  and 
.trengthen  them.     In   man's   contests  with  the  so-called 


Winter  and  Summer.  Si 

faults  of  climate,  he  is,  for  the  most  part,  reasonably  vie 
torious.  His  prudent  foresight,  his  ingenious  contrivances, 
his  dexterous  wielding  of  science  to  avert  evils  and  im- 
prove opportunities,  are  continually  showing  how  abun- 
dantly the  Creator  has  supplied  him  with  all  means  need- 
ful for  his  welfare,  in  whatever  quarter  of  the  world  his 
lot  may  happen  to  be  cast. 

Diversity  of  climate  circumscribes  within  limits  more 
or  less  narrow  many  of  the  most  useful  of  our  food-pro- 
ducing plants,  but  this  unavoidable  evil  has  sometimes 
been  lessened  or  obviated  in  a  way  which  affords  another 
instance  of  the  kind  forethought  of  Our  Father.  One  of 
the  most  useful  articles  of  vegetable  diet  is  sugar,  and 
Nature  has  taken  care  that  many  substances  in  common 
use  shall  contain  a  fair  proportion  of  it.  At  the  same 
time,  there  are  certain  plants  in  which  it  exists  so  abun- 
dantly that  we  are  accustomed  to  resort  to  them  for  our 
large  supplies.  Of  these  the  chief  is  the  well-known 
"  cane."  But  the  sugar-cane  flourishes  only  in  the  tropics 
and  adjacent  regions  ;  and  therefore  all  sugar  from  this 
source  consumed  in  extra-tropical  countries  must  be 
brought  to  them  by  commerce.  Many  a  wide  district, 
however,  lying  far  in  the  interior  of  continents,  is  unfa- 
vorably situated  for  thus  receiving  its  supplies,  and  it 
might  either  have  been  deprived  of  that  article  altogether, 
or  at  least  have  been  inadequately  provided  with  it,  had 
not  Providence,  with  kind  intent,  created  other  sugar- 
producing  plants  constitutionally  suited  to  different  cli- 
mates, for  the  purpose  of  distributing  the  gift  more  gen- 
erally over  the  world.  Thus  we  find  that,  from  the  "  cane  " 
region  to  the  Mediterranean,  the  supply  of  sugar  is  main- 
tained by  several  plants,  among  which  may  be  mentioned 
the  date-palm  and  the  fig.  Beyond  this,  in  climates  cor- 
responding to  southern  Europe,  there  are  the  sorghum 
and  maize,  from  which  much  sugar  is  now  manufactured 
in  France  and  America.  Farther  to  the  north  the  beet- 
6 


82  Winter  and  Slimmer. 

root  in  the  field  and  the  maple  in  the  forest  extend  the 
system  of  sugar-producing  plants  almost  to  the  confines 
of  the  arctic  circle.  In  another  article  of  diet,  which 
from  its  importance  we  are  accustomed  to  call  the  "  staff 
of  life,"  a  similar  providential  succession  is  observed. 
Farinaceous  food  is  tropically  represented  by  the  rice- 
plant  in  great  abundance  ;  in  proceeding  northward  rice 
is  associated  with  the  maize  or  Indian  corn ;  that  is  suc- 
ceeded by  wheat  ;  and  lastly,  we  have  oats  and  barley 
nourishing  almost  up  to  the  North  Cape.  The  same  rep- 
resentative system  is  observed  in  regard  to  many  other 
important  vegetable  principles  with  more  or  less  distinct- 
ness. In  this  manner,  then,  the  difficulties  opposed  by 
climate  to  the  wide  distribution  over  the  globe  of  some  of 
the  most  valuable  products  of  the  vegetable  kingdom  have 
been  entirely  surmounted.  It  is  clear  that,  according  to 
the  laws  which  regulate  the  vegetable  kingdom,  it  was 
impossible  for  the  same  useful  plants  to  flourish  every- 
where ;  but  Providence  has  created  duplicates,  as  it  were, 
to  yield  abundantly  the  same  products,  and  has  adapted 
them  by  their  constitution  to  take  up  their  position  in 
the  different  climatic  belts  of  the  world,  in  order  that  no 
extensive  region  should  be  without  them. 

With  all  their  imputed  faults  of  climate,  we  have  no 
occasion  in  these  favored  islands  *  to  envy  the  plantal 
glories  of  warmer  regions.  In  absolute  beauty  who  shall 
say  that  we  are  not  on  an  equality,  whilst  the  great  charm 
arising  from  the  well-marked  progression  of  the  seasons  is 
more  especially  our  own.  Nothing  is  more  frequently 
debated  than  the  comparative  attractions  of  the  different 
periods  of  the  year,  and  certainly  no  season  —  not  even 
excepting  Winter  —  need  be  without  its  admirers.  The 
never-ending  contrasts  which  every  season  spreads  before 
us  unquestionably  contribute  much  to  enhance  our  enjoy- 
ment.   Never  do  "  green  things  "  seem  so  green  or  flowers 

*  Great  Britain. 


Winter  and  Summer.  83 

so  bright  as  when  our  first  glimpses  of  them  are  caught 
through  the  opening  portals  of  the  Spring.  Then  do  we 
feel  more  than  at  any  other  time  the  great  value  of  this  sea- 
sonal alternation.  How  gladly  the  eye  wanders  over  and 
reposes  upon  the  "  universal  garb  "  of  Nature.  To  the 
beauties  of  Summer  and  Autumn  we  are  led  up  as  it  were 
through  an  avenue  which,  by  gradually  preparing  us  for 
what  is  to  follow,  lessens  in  some  degree  the  keenness  of 
our  relish.  The  banquet  is  more  varied,  but  the  freshness 
of  the  appetite  is  wanting. 

Though  Winter  may  yield  in  beauty  to  other  seasons, 
it  is  yet  universally  felt  to  have  special  attractions  of  its 
own.  There  is  much  to  admire  in  the  cheery,  ruddy  glow 
of  the  sun,  in  the  noble  and  picturesque  though  naked 
forms  of  the  woods,  in  the  hoar-frost  on  the  grass,  in  the 
sparkle  of  the  ice-gemmed  trees,  the  stalactites  of  crystal, 
and  the  wreaths  of  snow.  Even  in  Winter's  gloomiest 
moods  the  comforting  thought  is  ever  rising  to  our  mind, 
that  the  stillness  we  see  round  is  not  death  but  needful 
repose  spread  over  Nature  in  mercy,  and  that  the  woods 
will  soon  again  be  clothed  in  green,  and  vocal  with  the 
songs  of  birds. 

Winter  has  yet  another  aspect  by  which  it  is  endeared 
to  us.  At  Christmas-time  it  is  crowned  by  the  great  Fes- 
tival of  the  Church  and  of  the  family.  Then,  while  Na- 
ture slumbers  in  wood  and  field,  Winter  is  brightly  and 
lovingly  awake  around  the  hearth,  gladdening  millions  of 
hearts  with  warm  affection.  Families  that  were  scattered 
by  the  various  calls  of  life  once  more  gather  together  to 
enjoy  the  present,  glance  at  the  past,  and  treasure  up  new 
associations  for  the  future.  Then  shops  put  on  their  gay- 
est looks,  and  young  and  old  press  eagerly  forward  in 
search  of  the  little  gifts  that  are  to  make  others  happy. 
Streets  and  railway  stations  are  thronged  with  bustling 
groups  hurrying  on  to  claim  from  expectant  friends  the 
cordial  welcome  of  the  season.     Here  and  there,  too,  may 


8  4  Winter  and  Slimmer. 

be  seen  the  "  knotless  threads  "  and  waifs  of  the  world 
drawn  onward  by  the  social  influence  of  the  season  to 
ward  some  genial  home,  where,  for  a  time,  the  sense  of 
loneliness  will  be  forgotten.  At  Christmas  the  Church 
and  the  Home  seem  to  draw  closer  to  each  other,  and  the 
thoughts  awakened  by  the  solemn  festival  mingle  with  and 
temper  the  current  of  family  rejoicing.  Christmas  is  pre- 
eminently the  season  of  "  good-will  toward  men."  Un- 
der its  kindly  impulses  the  mind  softens  with  sympathy, 
and,  while  keenly  alive  to  the  blessings  that  fall  to  its  own 
lot,  is  more  heedful,  perhaps,  than  at  other  times  of  the 
plaints  of  the  less  fortunate.  The  parish  work-house  is 
for  the  day  made  radiant  with  merry  faces,  and  Charity 
enters  through  its  gloomy  gates  to  spread  the  feast  in 
honor  of  the  Anniversary.  In  the  good  soil  which  Christ- 
mas thus  prepares  in  the  heart  old  friendships  revive  and 
new  affections  quickly  strike  their  roots;  while  animosi- 
ties, curbed  by  the  gentle  influences  of  the  season,  shrink 
out  of  sight,  or  are  swept  away  altogether  in  the  gush  of 
better  feelings. 

The  lot  is  fallen  unto  me  in  a  fair  ground:  yea,  I  have  a  goodly  heritage.— 

Ps.  xvi. 


\^FS* 


NIGHTS  AND  DAYS. 

O  ye  Nights  and  Days,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise  Him,  and  mag' 
nify  Him  for  ever. 


E  have  already  alluded  to  the  earth's  orbital 
movement  round  the  sun,  from  which  our  year 
results  ;  and  we  have  now  to  direct  attention  to 
that  other  movement  of  the  earth  by  which,  in  turning 
upon  its  axis  every  23  hours  56  minutes  and  4  seconds,  it 
gives  rise  to  the  division  of  time  into  Nights  and  Days. 
How  perfect  the  working  of  that  machine  must  be  by 
which  this  division  is  meted  out  may  be  inferred  from  a 
calculation  by  Laplace,  which  demonstrated  that  "  it  was 
impossible  that  a  difference  of  one  hundredth  of  a  second 
of  time  should  have  occurred  between  the  length  of  the 
day  in  the  earliest  ages,  and  at  the  present  time  !  " 

Reverting  for  a  moment  to  our  impromptu  orrery,  it  is 
obvious  that  if  the  ball  of  worsted,  representing  the  earth, 
were  to  be  held  steady  during  its  solar  orbit,  so  as  not  to 
turn  round  on  its  axis,  one  hemisphere  of  its  surface 
would  be  directed  toward  the  sun  for  one  half  of  its  cir- 
cuit, and  the  remaining  hemisphere  during  the  other  half. 
In  other  words,  a  whole  year  would  be  divided  into  one 
long  day  and  one  long  night.  During  the  day  the  sun 
would  always  be  above  the  horizon,  and  the  accumulation 
of  heat  which  would  thus  accrue  would  far  transcend  the 
hottest  tropical  climate.  In  the  other  hemisphere,  turned 
away  from  the  sun,  there  would  be  a  constant  loss  of  heat 
from  radiation,  and  as  no  compensatory  rays  would  be  re- 
ceived from  that  luminary,  the  temperature  would  sink  be- 


86  Nights  and  Days. 

low  that  of  the  frozen  regions.  It  is  clear  that  such  an 
arrangement  would  be  incompatible  with  the  conditions 
under  which  life  now  exists  upon  our  globe.  Having  re- 
gard to  the  constitution  that  has  been  given  to  animals 
and  plants,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  heat  and  light 
should  be  meted  out  to  them  at  intervals  sufficiently  fre- 
quent to  guard  against  extremes  of  temperature.  There- 
fore it  is  ordained  that  the  earth  shall  revolve  once  upon 
its  axis  in  a  period  nearly  amounting  to  twenty-four  hours, 
—  an  arrangement  by  which  twelve  hours  of  alternate  day 
and  night,  of  warm  sunlight  and  cool  darkness,  are  se- 
cured to  each  hemisphere.  By  the  aid  of  certain  cosmical 
conditions,  elsewhere  noticed,  modifications  in  the  distri- 
bution of  light  and  heat  are  produced,  by  which  animals 
and  plants  might  obtain  that  particular  length  of  day 
and  night  which  is  best  suited  to  their  nature  and  habits. 

The  intervals  of  night  and  day  are,  moreover,  in  perfect 
harmony  with  that  law  of  Nature  by  which  all  animals  re- 
quire seasons  of  rest  to  alternate  with  periods  of  activity. 
The  demand  for  repose  is  universally  felt  and  obeyed. 
Even  plants  may  be  said  to  have  their  days  and  nights,  in 
the  sense  of  intervals  for  activity  and  rest ;  but  the  hours 
for  labor  are  struck  by  the  seasons  —  by  orbital  and  not 
by  axial  rotation.  In  spring,  summer,  and  autumn  the 
sap  circulates  briskly,  the  manufacture  of  wood  proceeds 
without  intermission,  and  the  various  special  products,  as 
gum,  starch,  sugar,  and  other  matters,  are  elaborated. 
But  on  the  approach  of  winter  —  or  toward  the  evening 
of  their  long  day  of  work  —  plants  turn  weary,  and,  by  a 
poetical  yet  truthful  figure,  we  habitually  speak  of  them 
as  "falling  asleep."  So  necessary  is  this  period  of  repose 
that,  in  the  tropics  where  there  is  no  winter's  cold  to  chill 
them  into  rest,  Nature  wraps  them  in  salutary  torpor  by 
means  of  the  sun's  fierce  ravs.  And  how  gladdening  the 
dawn  after  the  long  night  when  plants  awake  from  their 
sleep,  and  burst  forth  once  more  to  resume  their  day  of 
work ! 


Nights  and  Days.  87 

Night  mercifully  beckons  the  world  to  rest.  The  busy 
sounds  of  day  cease  to  distract  the  ear,  and  Nature  gently 
points  toward  repose.  How  sad  when  the  silent  hours 
of  darkness  refuse  to  steep  in  sweet  oblivion  the  senses 
of  the  careworn,  or  to  dull  the  racked  nerves  of  him  who 
languishes  upon  a  bed  of  sickness.  Sleep  is  best  wooed 
by  labor  —  it  is  the  reward  with  which  Nature  blesses  ex- 
ertion. How  grateful  sleep  is  to  the  busy  workers  of  the 
world ;  to  the  drones  only  is  it  apt  to  be,  like  their  life,  a 
listless,  scarcely  enjoyed  vacuity.  Night,  too,  calls  us  to 
meditation.  When  darkness  drops  its  curtain  over  the 
things  of  earth,  the  mind  is  prompted  to  look  inward. 
The  brief  but  salutary  retrospect  of  the  day  should  then 
be  made,  and  the  account  closed.  In  prayer  the  soul 
finds  peace,  and  sleep  steals  softly  on  amid  thoughts  that 
recall  the  Divine  protection. 

My  trust  is  in  the  tender  mercy  of  God  for  ever  and  ever.  —  Ps.  lii. 


LIGHT  AND  DARKNESS. 

Oye  Light  and  Darkness,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise  Him,  and  mag- 
nify Him  for  ever. 

MONG  those  works  of  the  Lord  to  which  this 
hymn  appeals  there  is  not  one  more  full  of 
blessings  to  mankind  than  Light,  or  one  which 
more  praises  and  magnifies  the  Creator.  But,  though 
many  of  the  laws  by  which  Light  is  governed  are  now  well 
known,  its  essential  nature  is  still  a  mystery.  Some  phi- 
losophers suppose  it  to  be  an  "  emanation  "  from  luminous 
bodies  of  inconceivably  minute  atoms  which  act  on  the 
retina  of  the  eye  like  odorous  particles  on  the  nerves  of 
smell.  Others  refer  its  phenomena  to  "  undulations  "  ex- 
cited in  a  subtle  ether  pervading  space,  and  traveling  on- 
ward to  the  eye  by  a  movement  resembling  waves  in  the 
ocean.  This  theory,  therefore,  points  to  an  analogy  with 
the  sense  of  hearing. 

How  wonderful  is  the  construction  of  that  little  instru- 
ment by  which  light  is  made  to  minister  to  vision  !  There 
is  truly  nothing  in  the  whole  range  of  Nature  which  more 
convincingly  demonstrates  design  than  the  mutual  adap- 
tations of  eye  and  light  This  organ,  equally  perfect  in 
contrivance  and  in  finish,  exhibits  the  most  wonderful 
combination  of  organic  power  with  a  mechanical  appara- 
tus formed  on  the  regular  principles  of  optics.  We  see 
objects  by  reflected  light;  in  other  words,  the  object 
must  first  be  illuminated,  and  then  it  must  reflect  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  this  light  into  our  eyes.  But  as  the  en- 
trance of  too  many  or  too  bright  rays  would  have  dazzled 


Light  and  Darkness.  89 

vision,  while  too  few  would  have  left  it  obscure  and  indis- 
tinct, an  ever-vigilant  sentinel  —  the  iris,  on  which  the 
color  depends  —  was  posted  in  front  across  the  interior 
.of  the  eye,  to  regulate,  by  the  expansion  or  contraction 
of  the  pupil,  the  exact  number  of  rays  that  ought  to  be 
admitted.  It  was  also  necessary  that  the  rays,  after  en- 
tering the  eye,  should  be  made  to  converge  so  as  to  depict 
a  distinct  image  on  the  retina,  or  nerve  of  vision,  spread 
out  at  the  back  of  the  organ.  For  this  purpose  a  lens, 
as  clear  as  crystal,  has  been  fixed  up  immediately  behind 
the  pupil,  to  "  refract "  or  bend  the  rays  into  the  proper 
focus.  Not  less  careful  has  the  Creator  been  in  regard  to 
the  safety  of  so  delicate  an  apparatus.  To  preserve  the 
eye  from  injury,  it  has  been  sunk  as  deeply  in  the  face  as 
was  consistent  with  the  free  range  of  vision  ;  it  is  de- 
fended all  round  by  strong  ridges  of  bone,  and  made  to 
move  softly  on  an  adipose  cushion.  Eyebrows,  moreover, 
have  been  placed  above,  and  fringing  eyelashes  in  front, 
to  guard  against  excessive  light ;  while,  by  the  rapid 
movement  of  the  eyelids,  the  tears  are  diffused  over  the 
surface  of  the  eye  exposed  to  the  air  so  as  to  keep  it 
moist  and  glistening.  Such  are  a  few  only  of  the  beauti- 
ful contrivances  exhibited  by  this  organ. 

Light,  though  colorless  and  invisible,  is  in  reality  made 
up  of  seven  different  tints,  which  again  may  be  reduced 
to  three  —  red,  yellow,  and  blue  —  out  of  which  the  others 
are  formed.  The  whole  series  is  finely  displayed  in  that 
separation  of  light  into  its  constituent  parts  which  takes 
place  in  a  prism  of  glass  or  in  the  water-drops  of  the 
rainbow.  Objects  which  absorb  nearly  all  the  rays  are 
black  ;  those  which  reflect  them  all  are  white  ;  and  we 
owe  the  charm  of  color  to  the  circumstance  that  most 
bodies,  while  decomposing  the  rays  of  light  that  fall  on 
them,  absorb  some  of  the  constituent  tints  and  reflect  the 
others.  By  the  endless  combination  of  these  last  every 
variety  of  color  is  produced.     In  many  ways   colors  are 


90  Light  and  Darkness. 

convenient  and  useful,  nor  will  any  one  deny  that  the  face 
of  Nature  would  have  lost  its  highest  charm  had  not  this 
property  been  bestowed  on  light. 

The  sun  is  the  great  fountain  of  Light ;  but,  without  the 
cooperation  of  the  atmosphere  to  diffuse  it  over  objects, 
the  illumination  of  this  earth  would  have  been  most  im- 
perfect, and  light  could  never  have  become  the  universal 
blessing  which  it  now  is.  Objects  on  which  the  direct 
rays  of  the  sun  fell  would,  of  course,  have  reflected  light 
and  been  visible  ;  but  objects  which  wrere  in  shade,  and 
which,  therefore,  did  not  receive  any  direct  solar  rays, 
would  have  been  invisible.  Let  any  one  attempt  to  realize 
the  confusion  into  which  the  world  would  thus  have  been 
thrown.  Even  in  the  brightest  sunshine  we  should  have 
seen  things  only  in  broken  fragments.  The  varied  beauty 
of  scenery  would  have  vanished,  and  every  landscape 
would  have  been  disfigured  with  seams  and  patches  of 
inky  blackness.  The  rays  of  the  sun  in  passing  through 
a  window  would  have  brightened  the  surfaces  they 
touched,  but  all  around  would  have  been  left  in  almost 
midnight  darkness.  In  conversing  with  a  friend,  the  side 
which  was  turned  toward  the  sun  would  alone  have  been 
visible  ;  and,  if  our  own  face  had  happened  to  be  opposite 
to  his  and  in  shade,  he  could  not  have  seen  it.  If  a  cloud 
had  passed  over  the  sun  both  of  us  would  have  vanished 
into  darkness,  as  if  from  a  sudden  eclipse.  The  azure 
tints  of  the  firmament  would  have  disappeared,  and  the 
stars  would  have  shone  at  midday  from  a  vault  of  utter 
blackness.  To  improve  the  illumination  it  was,  therefore, 
essential  that  something  should  distribute  the  light,  so  as 
to  supply  objects  that  were  in  shade  with  a  certain  amount 
of  rays,  by  the  reflection  of  which  they  might  be  seen. 
This  task  was  given  by  the  Creator  to  the  atmosphere. 
Many  of  the  sun's  rays  fall  directly  on  the  earth,  but  the 
rest  are  caught  up  by  the  air,  and  are  reflected  and  re- 
reflected  from  one  particle  to  another,  and  are  scattered 


Light  and  Darkness.  91 

and  diffused  in  every  direction,  until  all  objects  within  their 
influence  are  bathed  in  light.  In  this  manner  bodies  in 
shade  are  illumined  and  become  visible  by  reflecting  into 
our  eyes  more  or  less  of  the  light  they  have  received  at 
second-hand. 

The  service  which  the  atmosphere  renders  to  the  sun, 
in  diffusing  its  light  equally  over  objects,  is  amply  repaid 
by  the  sun  in  cooperating  with  plants  to  purify  the  atmos- 
phere. A  healthy  condition  of  the  latter  is  of  primary 
necessity  to  our  welfare  ;  and,  as  the  air  is  continually 
being  vitiated  in  a  variety  of  ways,  some  active  agency  is 
needed  to  check  deterioration  and  preserve  it  in  a  state  of 
purity.  The  essential  constituent  of  the  air  is  oxygen, 
which  is  diluted  with  nitrogen  to  a  certain  degree ;  and 
with  this  mixture  is  invariably  associated  a  small  propor- 
tion of  carbonic  acid  gas.  The  latter  is  poisonous  ;  but, 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  the  quantity  existing  in  the 
air  —  only  about  one  2000th  part  of  its  volume — is  too 
small  to  be  attended  with  any  inconvenience.  There  are, 
however,  many  causes  in  operation  continually  tending  to 
destroy  this  balance,  and  to  produce  a  noxious  excess. 
In  the  first  place,  we  manufacture  the  poison  within  our- 
selves to  an  extent  which,  though  small  in  the  individual, 
is  enormous  in  the  aggregate.  With  every  inspiration  we 
draw  into  the  lungs  a  certain  amount  of  oxygen,  which, 
after  combining  with  a  certain  amount  of  carbon  or  char- 
coal, is  expired  in  the  shape  of  carboific  acid  gas.  Now, 
although  a  small  proportion  of  this  acid  was  inspired  as  a 
constituent  of  the  air,  the  quantity  evolved  exceeds  by 
sixty  times  the  quantity  taken  in  ;  so  that  the  whole 
amount  of  carbon  thus  daily  carried  off  from  the  lungs  of 
a  healthy  adult  is  not  less  than  from  nine  to  twelve 
ounces.  When  we  multiply  this  unit  by  the  population  of 
the  world,  and  add  to  it  the  product  of  respiration  in  the 
Lower  animals,  we  may  imagine  the  extent  to  which  the  at- 
mosphere is  vitiated  from  this  cause. 


92  Light  and  Darkness. 

A  quantity  of  carbonic  acid  gas  still  more  enormous 
is  produced  by  combustion,  the  decomposition  of  animal 
and  vegetable  matter,  and  by  fermentation.  Every  can- 
dle and  every  lamp  sends  forth  its  little  rill  of  poison 
into  the  air,  while  from  fireplaces  and  furnaces  it  issues 
in  streams.  In  all  these  cases  the  chemical  action 
is  the  same ;  —  the  carbon  of  the  fuel  is  changed  into 
carbonic  acid  by  its  union  with  oxygen  gas. 

Notwithstanding  these  sources  of  vitiation  it  is  found 
experimentally  that  the  relative  proportions  of  the  con- 
stituents of  the  atmosphere  vary  very  little,  and  that  the 
amount  of  carbonic  acid  diffused  through  it  never  exceeds 
its  due  quantity.  It  is  obvious,  therefore,  that  the  Cre- 
ator must  have  set  some  potent  machinery  in  motion  to 
correct  and  purify.  Rain  and  surface  water  carry  off  more 
or  less  of  the  gas,  and  some  mineral  springs  sparkle  with  it ; 
but  the  work  is  chiefly  done  through  the  agency  of  Light 
upon  the  leaves  of  plants.  When  it  is  said  that  we  "  viti- 
ate "  the  air  in  breathing,  the  expression  refers  only  to  its 
salubrity  as  regards  ourselves  and  other  animals  ;  but  we 
should  greatly  err  if  we  supposed  that  this  apparent  spoil- 
ing subserved  no  good  purpose.  That  which  vitiates  the 
air  to  us  only  prepares  and  perfects  it  for  the  use  of 
plants ;  and  the  carbonic  acid  which  would  be  poison  to 
us  is  food  to  them.  Thus  the  leaves,  while  bathed  in  air, 
extract  from  it  the  chief  bulk  of  the  carbon  which  is  to 
build  up  the  woocfy  substance  of  the  tree  to  which  they 
belong.  It  is  to  be  observed,  however,  that  they  can  only 
perform  this  function  so  long  as  they  are  stimulated  by 
Light.  In  darkness,  plants,  instead  of  purifying  the  air, 
tend  to  vitiate  it  still  further  by  a  slight  evolution  of  the 
very  gas  which  it  is  their  special  function  to  remove.  But 
in  the  day-time,  the  leaf  seizes  upon  the  particles  of  car- 
bonic acid  gas  that  come  in  contact  with  it ;  and,  while  it 
"  fixes  "  the  carbon  in  its  substance,  it  liberates  into  the 
air  the  oxygen  which  is  to  restore  its  purity.     It  might  be 


Light  and  Darkness.  93 

thought  that,  as  there  are  no  leaves  in  winter  to  purify, 
the  atmosphere  would  then  become  poisonous.  But  by 
the  cosmical  conditions  of  our  globe  it  has  been  wisely 
ordained  that  it  never  is  winter  all  over  the  world  at  the 
same  time.  The  work,  therefore,  is  always  going  on, 
though  the  scene  of  the  laboratory  is  shifted.  But  be- 
sides this,  the  period  of  a  single  winter,  with  its  dispersing 
winds  and  currents,  would  be  too  short  to  allow  any  inju- 
rious accumulation  to  take  place.  Thus  to  vast  causes 
of  vitiation  are  opposed  vast  agencies  that  purify,  whereby 
the  balance  which  works  for  the  good  of  all  organized 
Nature  is  preserved. 

At  midday  the  unprotected  eye  cannot  face  the  sun. 
But  at  sunset  he  ceases  to  dazzle,  because  his  rays,  from 
their  greater  obliquity,  lose  much  of  their  fierceness  while 
passing  through  the  less  clear  and  more  vaporous  layers 
of  the  atmosphere  immediately  investing  the  earth.  The 
light  is  not  only  weakened,  but  it  is  altered  in  its  charac- 
ter. In  their  passage  toward  our  eyes  many  rays  are 
absorbed  and  lost  altogether,  and  many  others  are  decom- 
posed and  only  partially  transmitted.  Of  the  ray-frag- 
ments which  thus  survive  and  eventually  reach  our  retina 
the  red  predominate  ;  and  hence  the  glowing  hues  of  sun- 
set. 

When  looking  at  the  sun  just  as  he  begins  to  set,  it  is 
curious  to  reflect  that  he  is  not  really  where  he  appears 
to  be,  but  actually  below  the  horizon.  We  are,  in  fact, 
looking  at  his  image  or  picture.  There  is  a  rim  of  the 
horizon  interposed  between  us  ;  he  is  in  the  position  of 
the  hull  of  a  ship  when,  as  sailors  express  it,  the  ship  is 
"  hull-down."  Hence,  were  it  possible  that  a  cannon-ball 
could  be  projected  in  a  straight  line  right  through  the 
bright  disk  before  us,  it  would  not  strike  the  sun,  but 
would  pass  clean  over  it.  This  "  lifting  up  "  of  the  image 
of  the  sun  is  due  to  "  refraction  "  —  that  property  which 
has  already  been  noticed  as  enabling  the  lens  of  the  eye 


94  Light  and  Darkness. 

to  bend  the  rays  of  light,  and  bring  them  to  a  focus  on 
the  retina.  Refraction  is  familiar  to  every  boy  who  has 
thrust  a  stick  into  clear  water,  and  noticed  the  broken  or 
bent  appearance  it  presents  at  the  point  of  immersion  ; 
and  a  spoon  placed  in  a  teacup  into  which  a  little  water 
has  been  poured  will  exhibit  it  equally  well.  For  our 
present  purpose,  however,  this  will  be  better  illustrated  by 
another  very  simple  experiment.  Let  a  shilling  be  laid  at 
the  bottom  of  a  basin  placed  on  the  table,  and  let  the  ob- 
server then  move  slowly  backward,  keeping  his  eye  fixed 
on  the  piece  of  money,  until  the  rim  of  the  basin  just  in- 
tercepts his  view.  If  water  be  now  poured  into  the  basin 
without  displacing  the  coin,  the  latter  will  be  as  it  were 
lifted  up  out  of  its  real  position,  and  will  become  visible. 
At  first  the  shilling  was  seen  in  its  true  place.  When  the 
rays  proceeding  from  it  to  the  eye  were  intercepted  by  the 
rim  of  the  basin,  it  became  invisible.  But  when  the 
water  was  added  some  of  the  rays  from  the.  coin  in  pass- 
ing from  the  water  into  the  air  were  "  refracted,"  and  bent 
downward  toward  the  eye  so  as  to  fall  within  the  range 
of  vision.  Now  as  in  refraction  objects  are  not  seen  in 
the  direction  in  which  the  rays  originally  left  them,  but  in 
the  direction  in  which  the  rays  ultimately  enter  the  eye,  it 
follows  that  the  coin  is  visible  in  its  "  lifted  up  "  position. 
In  applying  this  experiment  to  the  phenomena  of  sunset, 
we  may  consider  the  shilling  as  the  sun,  and  the  intercept- 
ing rim  of  the  basin  as  the  horizon  behind  which  the  sun 
has  really  sunk.  The  media  of  water  and  air  represent 
the  dense,  vaporous,  impure  lower  strata  of  the  atmos- 
phere, which  gradually  "refract,"  or  bend  clown  toward 
our  eye,  the  rays  that  come  to  us  from  the  sun,  and  thus 
lift  up  its  image  above  its  real  position. 

To  the  "  reflecting  "  power  of  the  atmosphere  we  owe 
that  interval  of  half-light  which  in  the  morning  we  call 
the  dawn,  and  in  the  evening  the  twilight.  Were  it  not 
for  this  property,  we  should  pass  at  once  from  darkness 


Light  and  Darkness.  95 

to  light  and  from  light  to  darkness.  When  the  sun  sinks 
below  the  horizon,  and  when  his  direct  rays  have  bid  adieu 
to  the  dwellers  on  the  plains,  they  still  continue  to  tint 
the  tops  of  the  hills  ;  and  when,  from  the  further  dipping 
of  the  sun,  these  also  have  passed  into  shade,  the  slant- 
ing rays  still  enter  freely  into  the  higher  regions  of  the 
atmosphere.  Most  of  these  rays  continue  their  course 
into  space  and  are  lost  to  us  entirely ;  but  others  are 
caught  up  by  the  particles  of  air  and  vapor,  as  by  mirrors 
of  inconceivable  minuteness,  and  are  turned  back  and  re- 
flected from  layer  to  layer  downward  until  at  length  they 
reach  the  earth.  The  same  operation  is  repeated  as  the 
sun  approaches  from  the  east  in  the  morning.  The  soft, 
mild  light  of  twilight  is  especially  grateful  in  summer  to 
eyes  that  seek  repose  after  the  hot  glare  of  the  sun.  It  is 
linked  in  most  minds  with  pleasant  associations.  This  is 
the  time  for  leisure  strolls  on  land  or  gliding  movements 
on  the  water.  It  brings  us  into  acquaintance  with  many 
animals  which  select  it  as  their  favorite  period  of  activity. 
Soon  as  the  swallows  have  ceased  their  twit-twit,  the  bats 
issuing  from  their  retreat  begin  to  occupy  the  vacant  hunt- 
ing ground,  in  which  they  display  an  activity  on  the  wing 
scarcely  less  astonishing. 

The  length  of  twilight  varies  according  to  the  latitude 
and  the  season  of  the  year.  It  is  shortest  within  the 
tropics,  whose  inhabitants  may  be  said  to  plunge  almost 
at  once  from  light  into  darkness ;  and  it  lengthens  as  we 
proceed  toward  the  poles.  In  the  latitude  of  London, 
from  the  22d  May  to  the  21st  July,  so  much  light  lingers 
Dehind  between  sunset  and  sunrise  that,  speaking  astro- 
nomically, there  is  no  night  at  all.  At  the  north  pole 
night  lasts  from  November  12th  to  January  29th  ;  it  is 
preceded  by  one  long  twilight  continuing  uninterruptedly 
from  the  autumnal  equinox  •  and  it  is  followed  by  a  dawn 
reaching  to  the  vernal  equinox.  During  the  whole  of  this 
period  of  six  months  the  sun  is  below  the  horizon.     Those 


<o6  Light  and  Darkness. 

who  enjoy  the  blessing  of  alternate  day  and  night  every 
24  hours,  can  hardly  realize  the  intense  thankfulness  with 
which  the  dawn  and  the  sun  are  welcomed  by  men  who 
have  just  passed  through  the  depressing  influences  of  the 
dreary  polar  night.  We  can  sympathize  with  Doctoi 
Kane  in  his  brig  among  the  Greenland  ice,  as  he  records 
his  eager  watchings  for  the  sun,  and  the  calculations 
which,  by  revealing  its  daily  progress  toward  him,  per- 
mitted him  to  anticipate  with  certainty  the  day  of  its  reap- 
pearance. We  understand  the  thankfulness  with  which  he 
must  have  watched  the  dawn  growing  brighter  and  bright- 
er, and  the  delight  with  which  at  length  he  scrambled  up 
a  neighboring  height  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  orb  still 
hidden  at  the  level  of  the  deck.  "  I  saw  him  once  more, 
and  from  a  projecting  crag  nestled  in  the  sunshine.  It 
was  like  bathing  in  perfumed  water." 

When  wintering  in  the  far  north,  Captain  Sherard  Osborn 
thus  describes  the  return  of  the  sun  after  an  absence  of 
66  days.  On  February  7th  "  the  stentorian  lungs  of  the 
Resolute *s  boatswain  hailed  to  say  the  sun  was  in  sight 
from  the  mast-head  ;  and  in  all  the  vessels  the  rigging  was 
soon  manned  to  get  the  first  glimpse  of  the  returning  god 
of  day.  Slowly  it  rose  ;  and  loud  and  hearty  cheers 
greeted  the  return  of  an  orb  which  those  without  the  frozen 
zone  do  not  half  appreciate  because  he  is  always  with 
them.  For  a  whole  hour  we  feasted  ourselves  admiring 
the  sphere  of  fire." 

Light  is  one  of  the  best  and  cheapest  of  Nature's  tonics, 
and,  unless  it  be  habitually  absorbed,  neither  animal  nor 
vegetable  can  permanently  prosper.  Except  in  a  compar- 
atively narrow  belt  round  the  poles,  this  needful  medica- 
ment is  poured  out  at  short  intervals  profusely  over  the 
world,  and  streams  into  every  dwelling  where  it  is  not  re- 
pelled by  ignorance  or  folly.  In  man  the  habitual  absence 
of  sufficient  light  proclaims  itself  in  the  wan  cheek  and 
bloodless  lip  ;  and  in  plants,  by  the  general  want  of  green 


Light  and  Darkness.  97 

coloring  matter.  The  blood  that  has  been  long  shut  off 
from  the  renovating  influence  of  sunlight-air  may  circulate 
through  the  various  organs,  but  it  lacks  the  power  to  im- 
part to  them  a  healthy  vigor.  In  the  night-time  less  car- 
bon is  expired  from  the  lungs,  and  the  purification  of  the 
blood,  therefore,  goes  on  less  actively  than  during  the  day. 
The  inhabitants  of  towns,  where  light  is  more  or  less  ex- 
cluded by  lofty  streets,  are  pale  and  feeble  when  compared 
with  country  cottages,  although  their  food  may  be  both 
better  and  more  abundant.  Those  who  pass  their  days  in 
dark  alleys,  or  in  the  basement  dens  of  crowded  cities, 
seldom  enjoy  perfect  health  ;  and  this  is  due  not  less,  per- 
haps, to  the  want  of  light  than  to  the  want  of  air.  Where 
light  is  defective  elasticity7  forsakes  both  mind  and  body, 
and  the  spirits  of  few  are  so  buoyant  as  to  be  altogether 
insensible  to  the  difference  between  a  bright  and  a  dull 
day.  In  the  weary  polar  night  there  is  always  a  strug- 
gle against  the  depressing  influence  of  darkness.  When 
Kane,  wintering  in  Smith's  Sound,  saw  his  crew  drooping 
and  dying  round  him,  he  probably  did  not  err  in  attributing 
the  calamity  less  to  the  want  of  good  provisions  than  to 
the  want  of  light  His  dogs,  too,  perished  one  after  the 
other  with  strange,  anomalous  symptoms  which  he  attrib- 
uted to  the  same  cause,  and  he  looked  forward  with  con- 
fidence to  the  return  of  sunlight  as  the  charm  that  was  to 
stay  the  pestilence. 

It  would  even  appear  that  some  plants,  acted  on  by 
light,  give  off  that  mysterious  kind  of  modified  oxygen, 
termed  ozone,  which  is  believed  to  contribute  so  peculiarly 
to  the  healthy  condition  of  the  atmosphere.  Nor  is  the 
pervading  influence  of  light  unfelt  even  in  the  inorganic 
world.  To  light  we  owe  the  beauties  of  photography ; 
and  many  other  chemical  actions  can  go  on  only  under  its 
stimulus. 

"  And  God  said,  Let  there  be  Light."  Who  can  ade- 
quately appreciate  the  evidences  of  Power,  Wisdom,  and 


98  Light  and  Darkness. 

Beneficence  crowded  into  this  glorious  creation,  and  how 
little  do  they  comprehend  its  full  value  who  see  nothing 
in  it  beyond  its  convenience  or  its  beauty  !  Light  is  an 
essential  condition  of  animated  nature  —  the  pivot  on 
which  life  turns.  All  that  lives  upon  the  earth  lives  by 
light.  Without  it  plants  could  not  grow,  or  assimilate 
their  food,  or  breathe,  or  purify  the  air ;  and,  without 
plants,  animals  must  perish.  From  the  mineral  kingdom 
alone  the  food-supplies  of  the  whole  world  are  ultimately 
renewed,  and  plants  are  the  appointed  channels  through 
which  those  supplies  must  pass.  The  vegetable  organism 
rakes  them  together,  gathers  them  up,  and  hands  them 
over  to  animals  in  a  state  fit  for  food.  "  If,"  says  Pro- 
fessor Draper,  "  we  expose  some  clear  spring  water  to  the 
sunshine,  though  it  may  have  been  clear  and  transparent 
at  first,  it  presently  begins  to  assume  a  greenish  tint,  and 
after  a  while  flocks  of  greenish  matter  collect  on  the  sides 
of  the  vessel  in  which  it  is  contained."  This  first  addition 
to  organized  life  is  won  by  the  power  of  Light  out  of  the 
inorganic  atoms  round  the  germ  ;  it  is,  as  it  were,  the  mi- 
nute, base-material  out  of  which  the  fabric  of  life  is  woven. 
"  If  the  observation  be  made  in  a  stream  of  water,  the 
current  of  which  runs  slowly,  it  will  be  discovered  that 
the  green  matter  serves  as  food  for  thousands  of  aquatic 
insects  which  make  their  habitation  in  it."  Next  come 
fishes  to  snap  up  the  insects,  birds  may  seize  upon  the 
fishes,  and  both  serve  as  food  to  man.  In  endless  variety, 
and  often  through  a  much  longer  chain,  some  such  general 
"  succession  of  nutrition  "  is  always  going  on.  The  whole 
movement  was  started  by  a  beam  of  light ! 

Light  is  truly  one  of  the  great  "Powers  of  the  Lord," 
It  summons  the  whole  plantal  world  to  labor  in  the  purifi- 
cation of  the  air,  and  it  regulates  the  hours  of  work.  The 
wages  it  gives  to  plants  for  their  willing  service  is  their 
daily  food  of  carbon.  Hardly  had  the  green  matter  in 
the  stream  begun  to  form  under  the  influence  of  sunlight 


Light  and  Darkness.  99 

than  it  commenced  the  manufacture  of  pure  air  for  the  use 
of  man,  and  in  token  of  its  activity  it  was  gemmed  all  over 
with  bells  of  vital  oxygen.  Land  plants  are  no  less  busy 
in  the  same  task,  although  their  labor  is  necessarily  invisi- 
ble. Thus  by  the  aid  of  Light  no  plant  is  idle,  nor  is  it 
useless  in  Nature's  economy,  though  it  may  be  unseen. 
Every  scattered  leaf  and  blade  of  grass  has  its  appointed 
task,  and  every  ray  of  light  that  falls  upon  them  helps  on 
the  life  of  the  world. 
This  is  the  Lord's  doing,  and  it  is  marvelous  in  our  eyes.  —  Ps.  cxviii. 


WATERS  ABOVE    THE  FIRMAMENT. 


O  ye  waters  that  be  above  the  Firmament,  bless  ye  the  Lord: 
praise  Him, and  magnify  Him  for  e<ver. 

HE  word  Firmament  is  obviously  used  here  in  the 
same  sense  in  which  it  is  employed  in  the  ist 
chapter  of  Genesis.  It  is  that  space  which  im- 
mediately invests  the  earth,  and  which  interposes  between 
the  waters  which  are  below  and  those  which  are  above  it, 
or  between  seas  and  clouds.  The  Scriptures  abound  with 
imagery  derived  from  this  source.  Clouds  shut  out  the 
bright  sun  —  they  were  therefore  emblems  of  gloom  and 
sorrow ;  at  other  times  they  sheltered  plant  and  beast 
from  his  scorching  rays,  and  they  were  then  the  symbols 
of  tender  care  and  protection.  Of  old,  too,  as  now,  poets 
turned  toward  the  clouds  for  some  of  their  grandest  meta- 
phors. The  Psalmist  says,  "  The  Lord  maketh  the  clouds 
his  chariot ;  "  and  when  the  inspired  writer  of  the  Revela- 
tion exclaims,  "  Behold  He  cometh  with  clouds,"  the  ex- 
pression symbolizes  both  grandeur  and  majesty. 

Clouds  are  among  the  first  of  the  objects  invoked  in 
the  hymn ;  and  they  are  twice  mentioned  ;  once  by  them- 
selves, as  the  "  Waters  above  the  Firmament,"  and  again 
in  another  verse  in  connection  with  lightning.  The  prom- 
inence thus  given  to  them  accords  with  their  importance 
in  countries  like  Judea  and  Mesopotamia,  where  droughts 
are  sometimes  severely  felt.  Clouds,  therefore,  were 
watched  for  eagerly  and  anxiously,  as  signs  that  the 
parched  earth  was  about  to  be  blessed  with  refreshing 
rain.     Unhappy  the  regions  where  "  the  waters  "  never 


Waters  above  the  Firmament.  101 

collect  "  above  the  firmament."     There  "  the  clouds  drop 
no  fatness,"  and  the  land  loosens  into  sterile  sand. 

In  our  own  country,  and  still  more  in  hot  climates, 
clouds  often  interpose  as  a  friendly  shield  between  sun  and 
earth,  to  check  excessive  evaporation  from  the  one,  and  to 
ward  off  the  too  scorching  rays  of  the  other.  Without 
this  protection  the  surface  of  the  soil  would  dry  up,  roots 
would  find  no  moisture,  plants  would  languish  or  wither, 
and  cattle  might  perish  for  want  of  water. 

The  vapor  issuing  from  the  spout  of  a  tea-kettle  sup- 
plies a  favorite  illustration  of  the  theory  of  clouds,  or  they 
may  be  studied  on  a  larger  and  very  beautiful  scale  as  they 
are  developed  from  the  funnel  of  a  locomotive.  With 
every  puff  of  the  engine  a  quantity  of  steam  is  driven  into 
the  air.  It  will  be  noticed  that  this  steam  is  invisible  at 
the  moment  of  its  escape,  and  when  it  has  as  yet  scarcely 
cleared  the  funnel ;  then  it  is  quickly  condensed  into  a 
white  cloud ;  and,  lastly,  this  cloud  itself  disappears.  A 
moment's  attention  to  these  three  points  will  unfold  to  us 
much  that  is  interesting  in  cloud-philosophy.  It  is  well 
known  that,  when  water  is  heated  to  a  temperature  of  21 2° 
Fahrenheit,  it  rapidly  passes  into  invisible  steam.  The 
steam  produced  by  the  engine  boiler  was,  therefore,  as 
transparent  as  air  on  escaping  into  the  funnel.  But  when 
steam  is  cooled  below  the  temperature  of  2120  Fahrenheit 
it  is  condensed  into  vapor ;  hence  the  white  cloud  which 
the  invisible  steam  of  the  locomotive  formed  on  coming 
into  contact  with  the  colder  air  around  it.  Finally,  we 
observed  that  as  this  cloud  was  diffused  more  widely 
through  the  air  it  dissolved  and  vanished. 

This  last  fact  proves  that  the  atmosphere  has  the  prop- 
erty of  absorbing  or  dissolving  moisture,  which  it  retains 
in  an  invisible  state.  Air,  indeed,  always  contains  an  ad* 
mixture  of  moisture,  though  the  quantity  is  continually 
varying.  The  warmer  the  air,  the  greater  is  its  capacity  to 
take  up  water  in  this  invisible  state ;  on  the  other  hand, 


102  Waters  abozt  the  Firmament. 

the  colder  the  air,  the  less  moisture  it  can  hold.  It  fol- 
lows that  the  atmosphere  of  the  tropics  is  much  more 
loaded  with  vapor  than  that  of  temperate  regions  ;  while 
-this  latter,  in  its  turn,  contains  more  moisture  than  the  air 
of  higher  latitudes.  We  speak  of  "  a  dry  air,"  but  the 
expression  is  only  relatively  correct.  There  is  always 
enough  of  water  even  in  the  dryest  air  to  moisten  saline 
substances  that  are  deliquescent ;  and  every  body  has  ob- 
served the  streams  condensed  from  unseen  vapor  which 
soon  begin  to  trickle  down  the  sides  of  a  bottle  of  iced 
water  brought  into  a  room.  Few  people,  however,  would 
have  expected  to  find  that  a  cube  of  air  measuring  twenty 
yards  each  way  and  at  a  temperature  of  68°  Fahrenheit, 
is  capable  of  taking  up  no  less  than  252  lbs.  of  water 
before  it  reaches  the  point  of  saturation.  From  this  it 
may  be  imagined  how  enormous  the  quantity  of  water 
must  be  which  is  suspended  invisibly  in  the  entire  atmos- 
phere of  the  world. 

It  is  out  of  this  invisible  steam  pervading  the  atmos- 
phere that  visible  vapors  or  clouds  are  manufactured. 
When  one  current  of  air  meets  another  current  colder  than 
itself,  they  intermingle ;  and,  if  the  resulting  mixture  be 
not  of  a  temperature  sufficiently,  high  to  retain  in  a  state 
of  invisibility  the  moisture  that  is  diffused  through  both, 
the  excess  is  necessarily  condensed  into  cloud.  The 
cloud  itself  is  composed  of  particles  or  drops  of  water  so 
extremely  minute  that  they  float  in  air.  But  if  the  con- 
densation be  pushed  further,  the  minute  drops  coalesce 
into  larger  drops,  and  rain  falls  to  the  earth.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  warm  or  dry  currents  of  air  happen  to  set  in 
through  the  cloud,  it  will  be  again  more  or  less  com- 
pletely dissolved,  as  was  observed  in  the  case  of  the  va- 
por puffed  out  of  the  engine-funnel.  Hence  the  continual 
changes  going  on  in  clouds  —  their  thinning,  thickening, 
enlargement,  diminution,  and  the  other  alterations  of 
form. 


Waters  above  the  Firmament.         103 

The  atmosphere  owes  its  moisture  to  the  evaporation 
going  on  at  all  temperatures  both  from  land  and  water, 
and  more  especially  from  the  great  equatorial  oceans  of  the 
globe.  In  temperate  climates,  like  that  of  Europe,  with 
a  mean  temperature  of  52^°,  the  annual  evaporation  is 
equal  to  a  layer  of  water  37  inches  thick  ;  but  within  the 
tropics  it  is  much  greater,  varying  from  80  to  100  inches. 
The  great  stimulator  of  evaporation  is  the  sun,  and  clouds 
check  evaporation  by  intercepting  his  rays.  A  calm  is  less 
favorable  to  it  than  a  breeze  ;  in  the  former,  the  air  rest- 
ing on  the  water  soon  gets  saturated,  and  ceases  to  absorb  ; 
but  a  breeze  sweeping  over  the  sea  is  continually  present- 
ing to  it  new  and  thirsty  portions  of  air,  so  that  the  pro- 
cess goes  on  with  great  activity.  The  water  thus  sucked 
up  is  carried  off  into  the  atmosphere  as  invisible  vapor  or 
steam,  which  is  ultimately  condensed  into  clouds.  These 
may  be  considered  as  huge  aerial  tanks  or  reservoirs  filled 
with  water  handed  up  by  the  ever-busy  air  for  the  service 
of  the  earth.  When  clouds  are  not  condensed  in  one 
place,  the  loaded  air  passes  on  with  its  burden  to  another ; 
but  sooner  or  later  it  is  relieved  either  by  the  vanishing  of 
the  vapor  through  reabsorption,  or  by  the  formation  of 
rain.  Clouds  may,  in  some  degree,  be  regarded  as  regula- 
tors of  atmospheric  moisture,  withdrawing  it  when  in  ex- 
cess, and  yielding  it  back  when  moisture  is  needed. 

Besides  supplying  all  the  rain  and  filling  all  the  rivers 
of  the  earth,  the  invisible  moisture  of  the  air  is  essential 
to  the  well-being  both  of  animal  and  vegetable  life.  Were 
the  thirsty  air  not  abundantly  fed  with  water  from  sea  and 
land,  it  would  in  its  eager  search  for  drink  suck  out  the 
moisture  from  every  living  thing,  and  in  spite  of  all  pre- 
cautions we  should  soon  pass  into  the  condition  of  dried- 
up  mummies.  Our  safety  lies  in  the  free  admixture  of 
water  with  the  air,  by  which  its  keenness  is  tempered. 
Nevertheless  it  is  astonishing  to  mark  what  care  Nature 
has  taken  to  protect  the  juices  of  plants  and  animals  from 


104  Waters  above  the  Firmament. 

this  desiccating  action,  by  investing  them  with  coverings 
which  are  more  or  less  impermeable. 

In  respiration  the  lungs  cannot  support  an  air  which  is 
too  dry.  When  the  supply  of  invisible  vapor  in  a  room  is 
deficient,  unpleasant  sensations  arise  which  are  relieved 
by  softening  the  air  with  steam  from  hot  water.  While 
wintering  beyond  Smith's  Sound,  Doctor  Kane  observed 
that  his  crew  suffered  from  the  excessive  dryness  of  the 
air  which,  in  breathing,  was  sensibly  pungent  and  acrid. 
Nor  is  the  invisible  atmospheric  vapor  less  necessary  to 
the  vegetable  kingdom.  Plants  have  the  power  of  absorb- 
ing moisture  not  only  by  the  roots  but  also  through  their 
leaves  ;  and,  in  a  fairly  humid  air,  the  evaporation  going 
on  from  their  surface  is  thus  more  or  less  checked  or  com- 
pensated. But  in  a  too  dry  air  this  balance  is  upset,  and 
the  leaves  droop  or  wither.  The  few  plants  that  grow  in 
the  sandy  desert  are  mainly  dependent  on  the  invisible 
moisture  of  the  atmosphere  for  their  supply  of  water,  and 
the  same  may  be  said  of  those  plants  which  live  and  grow 
when  suspended  in  the  air  of  a  hot-house. 

From  the  remarks  just  made  it  will  be  readily  under- 
stood that  clouds  or  wind  coming  from  the  north  do  not 
usually  portend  rain.  The  air,  in  passing  southward,  has 
its  temperature  gradually  elevated ;  and,  consequently,  its 
power  to  hold  vapor  in  an  invisible  state  is  being  con- 
stantly augmented.  Hence,  not  only  is  there  no  rain,  but 
the  clouds  themselves  are  often  seized  upon  by  the  dry  air 
and  dissolved.  But  a  south  wind,  on  the  contrary,  comes 
loaded  with  the  vapor  which  it  sucked  up  when  its  temper- 
ature was  comparatively  high,  and  its  capacity  for  carry- 
ing invisible  moisture  great.  In  travelling  northward  it 
gradually  cools,  and  the  excess  of  moisture  which  it  can 
no  longer  hold  is  condensed  into  clouds  and  rain. 

Clouds  are  habitually  less  noticed  than  i]  ey  deserve  to 
)e,  and  the  pleasure  which  their  contemplation  is  so  well 
:alculated  to  afford  is  too  often  lost  from   neglect.     On 


Waters  above  the  Firmament,         105 

fitting  occasions  cloud-gazing  is  no  unworthy  distraction 
wherewith  to  occupy  a  few  of  the  fragments  of  time  ;  and 
it  belongs  to  those  enjoyments  which  are  all  the  more 
valuable  because  they  so  often  lie  within  our  reach. 
There  is  solid  pleasure  in  letting  our  eyes  lead  fancy  away 
among  the  mazes  of  cloudland.  What  endless  variety  of 
form  !  The  cirrhoid  groups  —  how  light,  feathery,  placid, 
gentle,  and  cheery  !  The  bulky  cumulus  —  stately,  som- 
bre, threatening  !  What  is  there  grand  in  Nature  or  in 
imagination  which  is  not  to  be  found  among  them  ?  There 
are  mountains  and  rocks,  peaks  and  precipices,  of  which 
the  aiguilles  and  domes  of  the  Alps  are  but  pigmy  models, 
castles  and  cities,  torrents  and  waterfalls  !  Imagination 
itself  is  beggared.  Beautiful  shapes  float  before  our  eyes 
for  which  we  strive  in  vain  to  find  a  name.  Under  our 
gaze  they  melt,  and  change,  and  recombine,  as  if  to  show 
the  limitless  fancy  of  exuberant  Nature.  What  colors  !  — 
the  softest,  the  gravest,  the  richest,  the  brightest — hues 
of  lead,  copper,  silver,  and  gold  —  all  on  a  scale  which 
mocks  the  rest  of  Nature's  painting.  What  masses  and 
magnitudes  !  Mounds  of  vapor,  built  up  out  of  specky 
fragments,  and  rolled  up  the  vault  of  the  firmament  by  the 
power  of  the  sun.  In  repose  clouds  are  the  emblem  of 
majesty,  but,  driven  before  the  gale,  they  are  the  symbol 
of  force  that  is  irresistible.  "  His  strength  is  in  the 
clouds  !  "  When  the  vapory  masses  are  burnished  by  the 
rays  of  the  setting  sun,  we  feel  that  the  Psalmist,  in  call- 
ing them  the  "  chariot  of  the  Lord,"  has  chosen  for  his 
metaphor  the  most  gorgeous  object  that  was  to  be  found 
within  the  wide  limits  of  the  universe. 

Thy  mercy,  O  Lord,  reacheth  unto  the  Heavens,  —  and  Thy  faithfulness 
unto  the  Clouds.  —  Ps.  xxxvi. 


LIGHTNING  AND    CLOUDS. 

O  ye  Lightnings  and  Clouds,  bless  ye  the  Lord  :  praise  Him,  and 
magnify  Him  for  ever. 

I  IKE  other  natural  forces,  lightning  might  with 
'  propriety  have  been  considered  among  the  "  Pow- 
_§!sll  ers  of  the  Lord ; "  but,  from  its  being  specially 
invoked,  in  conjunction  with  clouds,  in  a  separate  verse, 
we  are  reminded  of  the  great  part  it  plays  in  warm 
climates,  and  of  the  beneficent  office  it  performs.  Light- 
ning, or  Electricity,  is  believed  to  be  a  form  of  heat  ;  but, 
whether  it  be  essentially  convertible  into  and  identical 
with  other  great  powers  of  motion,  such  as  chemical  force 
and  life,  we  need  not  here  discuss.  The  prevailing  theory 
respecting  its  nature  —  one  which  at  least  harmonizes  well 
with  most  of  the  pher.  omena  it  presents  —  is  that  electric- 
ity is  of  two  kinds,  positive  and  negative  ;  and  that  these 
fluids  always  attract  each  other  in  order  to  establish  an 
equilibrium.  On  the  other  hand,  when  bodies  are  charged 
with  the  same  kind  of  electricity  —  whether  this  be  posi- 
tive or  negative  —  they  repel  each  other.  When  a  certain 
amount  of  the  one  kind  of  fluid  passes  toward  the  other,  it 
is  attended  with  a  flash  of  light  which  is  termed  the  elec- 
tric spark. 

We  have  yet  much  to  learn  respecting  the  work  clone  by 
electricity  in  the  economy  of  Nature  ;  but,  both  from  its 
universal  diffusion  and  from  the  provision  made  for  its 
production,  we  may  safely  assume  that  the  part  it  plays  is 
most  important  to  the  welfare  of  the  world.  It  certainly 
exercises  great  influence  in  meteorological  phenomena  — 


Lightning  and  Clouds.  107 

as  in  the  condensation  of  clouds  and  rain,  the  production 
of  currents  and  storms  and  the  aurora  borealis — as  well 
as  in  regard  to  the  general  sanitary  condition  of  the  atmos- 
phere. We  know  how  much  our  health  and  the  comfort 
of  our  feelings  are  affected,  even  in  this  country,  by  the 
electrical  state  of  the  atmosphere ;  but  we  can  form  only 
a  faint  idea  of  the  intensity  of  the  inconvenience  caused 
in  hot  climates  where  lightning  is  more  common.  The 
thunder-storm,  notwithstanding  the  danger  occasionally 
attending  it,  is  there  welcomed  as  a  blessing  sent  to  clear 
and  purify  the  air,  and  restore  it  to  its  wonted  salubrity. 

The  earth  is  the  great  reservoir  of  electricity,  and  its 
surface  may  be  considered  as  a  vast  electrical  apparatus 
on  which  the  fluid  is  being  constantly  developed.  When 
we  desire  by  artificial  means  to  exhibit  the  presence  of 
electricity,  we  usually  rub  glass  or  sealing-wax  with  a  silk 
handkerchief,  or  we  cause  a  plate  of  glass  to  revolve 
rapidly  and  rub  itself  against  a  piece  of  silk,  as  in  the 
common  electrical  machine.  So,  likewise,  in  the  grand 
machine  of  Nature,  the  air  is  constantly  generating  elec- 
tricity as  it  sweeps  or  rubs  over  the  earth's  surface,  and 
the  fluid  thus  evolved  passes  back  into  the  earth  or  into 
the  atmosphere. 

The  fluid  passing  into  the  air  may  accumulate  unduly ; 
and  the  balance  between  the  atmosphere  and  the  earth 
being  upset,  Nature  steps  in  and  takes  means  to  restore 
the  equilibrium.  With  this  intent,  copious  rains  charged 
with  electricity  sometimes  draw  off  the  excess  to  the  great 
reservoir  ;  but  when  the  case  is  beyond  this  mode  of  re- 
lief, the  firmament  is  filled  with  thunder-clouds  from  which 
dart  the  sparks  that  flash  toward  the  earth.  The  same 
kind  of  action  happens  when  neighboring  clouds  are  dif- 
ferently charged,  and  the  balance  is  restored  by  the  pas- 
sage of  electricity  from  one  to  the  other,  as  shown  in  the 
vivid  sheet-lightning. 

There  are  some  substances  —  such  as  metals  and  water 


io8  Lightning  and  Clouds. 

—  that  are  called  "  good  conductors,"  because  electricity 
passes  easily  through  them  ;  and  there  are  other  substances 

—  such  as  glass  or  dry  air  —  that  are  called  "  bad  con- 
ductors," because  electricity  passes  through  them  with  dif- 
ficulty. In  running  off  through  the  former  the  fluid  seems 
gentle  and  manageable  ;  but  in  forcing  a  passage  through 
the  latter  it  tears  and  destroys.  Thus  the  wire  which  con- 
ducts into  the  earth  the  discharge  of  an  electric  machine 
may  be  held  safely  in  the  hand.  The  fluid  will  pursue  its 
easy  course  through  the  wire  to  the  ground,  and  will  not 
turn  aside  to  enter  the  hand  and  give  a  shock  to  the  body 
by  forcing  its  way  through  so  bad  a  conductor.  On  this 
simple  fact  depends  the  principle  of  the  lightning-rod.  In 
its  flight  toward  the  earth  the  lightning  will  avoid  a  bad 
conductor,  and  select  a  good  one,  if  it  is  to  be  had  ;  and 
thus  it  will  spare  the  house  or  the  tower  so  long  as  there 
is  a  sufficient  iron  rod  attached  through  which  it  may 
descend  to  the  earth.  In  this  way  the  electric  discharge, 
which  would  have  shattered  the  "  bad  conducting  "  tower, 
glides  easily,  gently,  and  safely  past  it  into  the  ground. 
Formerly  people  dreaded  to  enter  a  smith's  forge  during  a 
thunder-storm  ;  but  now,  being  better  informed,  they 
wisely  direct  their  steps  toward  it,  well  knowing  that  they 
cannot  be  in  a  safer  position  than  when  surrounded  by 
masses  of  iron,  that  is,  with  good  conductors  in  contact 
with  the  ground. 

As  there  are  comparatively  few  places  which  can  be 
artificially  protected  by  lightning-rods,  Providence,  ever 
wise  and  kind,  has  made  various  natural  arrangements  to 
diminish  the  clanger  by  which  we  should  otherwise  be 
surrounded  during  every  thunder-storm.  Thus  it  so  hap- 
pens that  water,  whether  in  the  form  of  liquid  or  of  vapor, 
promotes  the  conducting  qualities  of  bodies.  How  fitly, 
therefore,  in  this  hymn  has  lightning  been  associated  with 
clouds!  Out  of  the  clouds  comes  the  danger,  —  out  of 
the  clouds,  too,  comes  the  water  which  helps  to  avert  it 


Lightning  and  Clouds,  109 

from  us.  Dry  air  is  a  bad  conductor,  and  favors  undue 
electrical  accumulations  ;  but  moist  air  is  a  good  con- 
ductor, and  drains  the  fluid  harmlessly  from  the  atmos- 
phere. Each  big,  round  drop  of  rain,  as  it  falls,  becomes 
freighted  with  some  of  the  superabundant  electricity,  and 
carries  it  off  in  safety  to  the  earth.  The  falling  torrent, 
moreover,  soaks  house  and  tower,  tree  and  shrub,  coats 
and  other  vestments,  and  thus  adds  to  the  facility  with 
which  they  conduct  the  fluid  harmlessly  from  the  air.  If 
caught,  therefore,  in  a  thunder-storm  and  drenched  to  the 
skin,  let  us  console  ourselves  with  the  thought  that  we  are 
thus  much  safer  than  we  were  a  few  minutes  before  when 
our  clothes  were  dry. 

These  means  of  safety  apply  chiefly  to  the  thunder- 
storm itself —  to  the  time  when,  an  undue  accumulation 
having  occurred,  the  balance  must  be  redressed  even  at 
the  cost  of  clanger.  But  Providence  has  not  forgotten  to 
take  precautions  by  which  undue  accumulation,  though 
not  absolutely  prevented,  is  at  least  rendered  infinitely 
more  rare  than  it  otherwise  would  be  had  no  such  ar- 
rangement existed.  The  world  is,  in  point  of  fact,  studded 
all  over  with  safeguards  against  disturbance  in  the  elec- 
tric equilibrium  between  the  atmosphere  and  the  earth. 
On  this  subject  a  recent  writer  has  well  observed  that 
"God  has  made  a  harmless  conductor  in  every  pointed 
leaf,  every  twig,  every  blade  of  grass.  It  is  said  that  a 
common  blade  of  grass,  pointed  with  Nature's  workman- 
ship, is  three  times  as  effectual  as  the  finest  cambric 
needle,  and  a  single  twig  is  far  more  efficient  than  the 
metallic  points  of  the  best  constructed  rod.  What  then 
must  be  the  agency  of  a  single  forest  in  disarming  the 
forces  of  the  storms  of  their  terrors  ?  —  while  the  same  Al- 
mighty hand  has  made  rain-drops  and  snow-flakes  to  be 
conductors,  bridges  for  the  lightning  in  the  clouds,  alike, 
it  seems,  proclaiming  the  mercy  and  the  majesty  of  the 
Almighty  hand." 

The  Three  Children  knew  well  the  gladness  with  which, 


no  Lightning  and  Clouds. 

toward  the  end  of  September,  the  lightning  was  welcomed 
in  their  beloved  Judea.  "  He  maketh  lightning  for  rain," 
exactly  expressed  the  message  which  it  brought  from  the 
sky.  It  indicated  that  the  rule  of  the  scorching  sun  was 
drawing  to  an  end,  and  that  the  "  early  rains  "  were  about 
to  fall  and  refresh  the  earth,  and  prepare  it  for  the  seed. 
The  practically  small  danger  that,  might  attend  the  flash 
was  forgotten  in  the  paramount  blessing  of  which  it  was  the 
harbinger.  Yet  it  must  be  confessed  that,  notwithstand- 
ing the  conviction  of  its  utility,  feelings  allied  to  dread 
attend  the  exjDlosions  of  the  lightning-cloud ;  and  nothing 
Use  in  Nature  brings  so  home  to  our  minds  the  conviction 
that  we  live  in  the  midst  of  peril.  After  every  precaution 
for  safety  has  been  taken,  what  can  preserve  us  from  the 
fatal  flash  but  the  ever-vigilant  hand  of  God  ?  Lightning 
seems  to  be  the  very  type  of  those  messengers  of  "  sudden 
death  "  from  which  we  pray  the  Good  Lord  to  deliver  us. 
The  close  air  that  precedes  the  storm  stifles  and  depresses. 
Dumb  creatures  stand  anxiously  about,  utter  their  cries 
of  fear,  and  seem  to  recognize  instinctively  that  the  forces 
of  Nature  are  in  conflict.  The  clouds  advance,  roll  up  to- 
gether, and  thicken  into  lurid  masses.  The  sun  is  walled 
out  from  the  earth,  and  something  less  dark  but  more  op- 
pressive than  the  night  lies  heavily  upon  us.  The  dart 
we  see  cleaving  through  the  blackness  is  winged  with 
destruction  \  its  course  is  wild  and  uncertain,  its  stroke  is 
sudden,  the  death  it  deals  is  instantaneous.  The  sound- 
ing of  the  thunder  is  awful.  From  its  lowest  mutterings, 
scarcely  breaking  on  the  ear  from  afar,  up  to  its  loudest 
crash  it  is  ever  portentous,  and  no  human  heart  can  listen 
to  it  without  emotion.  The  voice  speaks  to  all,  and  it 
brings  a  double  message  :  —  it  tells  us  that  death  is  in  the 
air  ;  but  it  also  recalls  to  us  the  thought  that  our  lives  are 
in  God's  keeping,  without  whose  will  the  lightning  cannot 
hurt  us. 

Nevertheless,  though  I  am  sometimes  afraid,  yet  put  I  my  trust  in 
Thee.  —  Ps.  lvi. 


SHOWERS  AND  DEW. 

0  ye  Showers, and  Dew,  bless  ye  the  Lord:  praise  Him,  and 
magnify  Him  for  ever. 

HE  prominence  given  in  this  hymn  to  water  in  all 
its  forms  is  very  remarkable,  but  is  easily  under- 
stood when  we  recollect  that  the  Three  Hebrews 
were  chiefly  familiar  with  "  seasonal  "  countries.  Such 
districts  are  strikingly  and  visibly  dependent  on  the  timely 
supply  of  Dew,  Rain,  and  River  water,  to  preserve  them 
from  the  effects  of  the  excessive  droughts  which  usually 
set  in  at  certain  periods  of  the  year.  We  read  in  Script- 
ure of  the  "early"  and  the  "  latter  "  rain.  The  early  or, 
as  it  was  sometimes  called,  the  "  former  "  rain  began  to 
be  abundant  in  October,  and  continued  to  fall  more  or 
less  until  Christmas.  It  then  either  ceased  altogether,  or 
became  very  moderate  until  spring,  when  it  once  more 
poured  down  copiously  as  the  "latter"  rain.  The  hus- 
bandman profited  by  the  first  of  these  periods  to  sow  the 
seed  which  was  to  germinate  and  stand  the  winter ;  while 
the  time  that  followed  the  "  latter  "  rain  was  equally  favoi- 
able  to  the  rapid  growth  and  ripening  of  the  harvest.  If 
few  showers  fell  at  those  seasons,  the  hopes  of  the  hus- 
bandman for  a  good  crop  were  sure  to  be  disappointed, 
for  then,  as  now,  little  or  no  rain  was  to  be  expected  dur- 
ing the  summer. 

There  are  few  natural  objects  more  frequently  used  as 
symbols  in  Scripture  than  rain  and  dew,  and  they  invari- 
ably represent  what  is  good  and  beneficent.  The  most 
blessed  of  all  events  —  the  coming  of  the  Saviour,  is  thus 


112  Showers  and  Dew, 

foreshadowed  by  the  Psalmist,  —  "  He  shall  come  down 
like  rain  upon  the  mown  grass ;  as  showers  that  water  the 
earth."  On  various  occasions  rain  represents  the  Cre- 
ator's benignity  toward  man  ;  while  the  force  of  the  ex- 
pression in  Deuteronomy,  chap.  32,  "  My  doctrine  shall 
drop  as  the  rain,"  is  derived  from  its  enriching  and  life- 
giving  virtue. 

Besides  bestowing  fertility  on  the  soil,  rain  cleanses  and 
purifies  both  the  land  and  the  atmosphere.  From  the  latter 
it  often  safely  conducts  the  electricity  which  is  accumulat- 
ing unduly,  and  by  thus  restoring  the  equilibrium  between 
the  air  and  the  earth  renders  the  thunder-storm  unnec- 
essary. Rain  also  relieves  the  air  of  some  of  its  superflu- 
ous carbonic  acid,  which  it  hands  down  to  the  rootlets  of 
the  plants  ;  and,  by  means  of  its  admixture  with  this  acid, 
the  surface  water  is  enabled  to  take  up  a  certain  quantity 
of  lime,  which  it  transports  down  rill  and  river  into  the  sea 
to  furnish  myriads  of  creatures  with  materials  out  of 
which  to  build  their  shells.  Rain  sweeps  down  into  the 
plains  the  weather-worn  particles  of  rock  which  are  to  form 
new  soil ;  and,  while  it  washes  the  surface  of  mountain 
and  valley,  street  and  house,  it  increases  the  general  salu- 
brity by  clearing  off  the  minute  rubbish  of  the  world. 

When  we  consider  the  enormous  volume  of  water  which 
every  year  is  rolled  down  into  the  sea  by  the  rivers  and 
rivulets  of  the  earth,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  the 
annual  rainfall  which  feeds  them  should  be  computed  to 
have  a  bulk  equal  to  186,240  cubic  imperial  miles.  If 
spread  equally  over  the  land  of  the  globe  —  50  million 
square  miles  —  this  rain  would  cover  it  with  water  to  a 
depth  of  three  feet.  All  this  huge  mass  of  water  comes 
originally  from  the  ocean,  whence  it  is  lifted  up  into  the 
atmosphere  by  the  agency  of  evaporation  ;  and  as  the 
southern  hemisphere  has  a  water-surface  of  75  millions  of 
miles,  while  that  of  the  northern  is  only  25  millions,  it  fol- 
lows that  there  is  a  much  greater  quantity  sucked  up  on 


Showers  and  Dew.  i 1 3 

the  south  than  on  the  north  side  of  the  Equator.  As  it  is 
chiefly  for  the  sake  of  the  land  that  rain  may  be  said  to 
fall,  and  as  the  land  so  greatly  predominates  in  the  north- 
ern hemisphere,  it  might  at  first  sight  appear  that  Nature 
had  for  once  committed  a  blunder  in  thus  making  the 
greatest  provision  for  rain  in  that  hemisphere  where,  from 
the  comparative  scarcity  of  land,  the  smallest  supply  is 
needed.  But  on  looking  more  closely  we  shall  see  that 
every  thing  is  harmonized  through  one  of  those  marvelous 
adjustments  by  which  the  whole  economy  of  the  universe 
is  characterized. 

A  supply  of  water  greater  than  what  is  locally  required 
being  thus  drawn  up  into  the  atmosphere  lying  over  the 
Southern  Ocean,  the  problem  is  how  to  convey  it  into  the 
northern  hemisphere,  where  the  chief  masses  of  land  lie, 
and  where  more  rain  is  needed  than  can  be  obtained  by 
evaporation  ?  The  machinery  used  in  this  gigantic  task 
is  found  in  the  great  atmospheric  currents,  which,  though 
subject  to  occasional  disturbance,  do  yet  in  the  main  act 
with  perfect  regularity.  The  chief  evaporation  from  the 
Southern  Ocean  takes  place  when  the  sun  is  to  the  south 
of  the  Equator,  and  therefore  when  winter  reigns  in  the 
northern  hemisphere.  At  this  season,  the  cold  in  high 
northern  latitudes  is  most  intense,  and  the  heavy  air  has 
naturally  its  greatest  tendency  to  pass  toward  the  Equa- 
tor. The  air  thus  displaced  over  the  Southern  Ocean  rises, 
charged  with  heat  and  moisture,  into  the  upper  regions  of 
the  atmosphere,  and  there  forms  a  current  whose  general 
direction  is  northward,  or  contrary  to  the  polar  current  be- 
neath it.  By  this  circulation  of  currents  not  only  is  the 
equilibrium  of  the  air  itself  maintained,  but  a  most  neces- 
sary distribution  of  water  and  heat  is  likewise  effected. 
One  part  of  the  globe  which  has  an  abundance  is  made  to 
give  to  another  part  the  supplies  that  are  naturally  wanted. 
Thus  we  can  fancy  the  atmosphere  to  be  a  mighty  ship 
indefatigably  carrying  on  the  beneficent  commerce  of  Na- 
8 


H4  Showers  and  Dew. 

ture.  Setting  out  from  the  bleak  north,  she  sweeps  round 
the  earth  to  the  regions  of  the  south,  refreshing  them  with 
cool,  dry  air  •  and  then,  having  laid  in  her  cargo  of  heat 
and  moisture,  she  starts  without  delay  upon  her  return 
voyage,  dispensing  as  she  goes  the  blessings  of  warmth 
and  rain. 

The  cause  of  this  regular  precipitation  may  be  readily 
understood  by  what  has  been  said  in  regard  to  clouds. 
The  tropical  air,  as  it  travels  north,  becomes  colder  and 
colder,  and  therefore  its  capacity  to  hold  moisture  becomes 
less  and  less.  Hence  it  is  forced  at  every  ^  stage  to  let  go, 
in  the  shape  of  clouds  and  rain,  the  excess  of  moisture 
which  it  can  no  longer  hold  in  solution  ;  and  as  every 
drop  of  rain,  on  being  condensed  from  invisible  vapor  or 
steam,  gives  out  as  much  latent  heat  as  would  raise  by 
one  degree  Fahrenheit  the  temperature  of  1030  drops  of 
water,  a  powerful  influence  in  moderating  the  rigor  of 
northern  climates  is  exerted.  The  last  remnants  of  moist- 
ure are  squeezed  from  the  air  by  the  hard  grip  of  the  polar 
regions,  where,  as  snow  or  ice,  it  adds  to  the  desolation  of 
those  high  latitudes.  To  any  one  contemplating  the  great 
arctic  glaciers  it  must  be  curious  to  think,  that  much 
of  the  water  there  piled  up  in  ice  has  been  sucked  up 
amid  the  warmth  and  sunshine  of  the  distant  Southern 
Ocean.  The  quantity  of  water  thus  carried  and  of  heat 
thus  diffused  by  the  agency  of  the  atmosphere  almost  ex- 
ceeds belief,  and  ranks  the  operation  among  the  greatest 
of  those  physical  contrivances  by  which  the  welfare  of  the 
world  is  maintained.  Wonderful  Power  of  the  air  —  work- 
ing day  and  night,  noiselessly,  invisibly  —  mighty  link  in 
the  water-circulation  of  the  globe  —  "  dropping  fatness  " 
over  the  earth,  and  with  unerring  instinct  giving  to  it  from 
year  to  year  the  exact  supply  that  is  needful. 

In  tropical  countries,  where  a  hot  temperature  prevails, 
a  proportionately  large  allowance  of  rain  is  needed  for 
vegetation.     Notwithstanding  the  liberal  supplies  sent  off 


Showers  and  Dezv.  115 

toward  north  and  south,  enough  is  provided  through  the 
great  capacity  possessed  by  warm  air  for  holding  invisible 
vapor  in  suspension ;  and,  when  rain  does  occur,  the 
quantity  of  water  condensed  is  larger  and  the  downpour 
heavier  than  in  climates  lying  beyond.  From  this  cause 
the  annual  rainfall  also  is  usually  much  greater.  By  way 
of  comparison  it  may  be  stated,  that  while  the  average 
rainfall  of  Great  Britain  is  nearly  28  inches,  that  of  the 
Equator,  according  to  Humboldt,  is  96  inches.  In  some 
parts  of  South  America  an<|  elsewhere  this  amount  is 
greatly  exceeded.  At  Maranhao,  in  Brazil,  the  rainfall 
has  been  estimated  at  28of  inches.  At  Cherraponjie,  in 
India,  the  enormous  quantity  of  605 \  inches  have  been 
known  to  fall  during  the  southwest  monsoon,  which  gives 
to  this  place  the  distinction  of  probably  having  one  of 
the  wettest  climates  in  the  world. 

Within  the  tropics  the  year  is  divided  into  the  dry  and 
the  rainy  seasons.  The  dry  corresponds  to  the  winter  of 
higher  latitudes,  during  which  plants  take  their  annual 
rest.  In  the  rainy  season  showers  and  sunshine  alternate, 
and  vegetable  life  is  stimulated  into  its  most  luxuriant 
growth.  The  vegetation  of  warm  countries,  being  habitu- 
ated to  abundant  moisture,  feels  with  corresponding  se- 
verity any  material  diminution  in  the  supply.  Thus,  at 
Bombay,  the  annual  average  rainfall  may  be  taken  at  80 
inches;  but  in  1824  not  more  than  34  inches  fell  —  an 
amount  not  differing  much  from  our  own  yearly  supply 
—  and  the  consequences  were  direful  famine  and  pesti- 
lence. 

He  whose  lot  has  been  cast  in  a  temperate  climate, 
where  showers  and  sunshine  chase  each  other  throughout 
the  year,  can  hardly  realize  the  eagerness  with  which  the 
leturn  of  the  rain  is  longed  for  in  seasonal  regions.  Lis- 
ten to  "  old  Indians  "  describing  the  anxiety  with  which 
they  have  watched  for  the  coming  of  the  monsoon,  and 
the  ecstacy  with  which  they  have  hailed  its  arrival.     Some 


1 1 6  Showers  and  Dew. 

friends  may  be  gathered  together  within  doors  —  languid, 
drooping,  and  spiritless.  The  drought  of  the  preceding 
dry  months  has  almost  desiccated  them.  Every  exertion 
is  a  trouble  and  thinking  a  fatigue  ■  every  thing  around 
pants  and  fades.  Suddenly — not  the  sound,  but  —  the 
smell  of  the  coming  flood  is  sniffed  in  the  air.  Eyes 
brighten,  muscles  begin  to  be  braced,  the  brain  resumes 
its  energy,  and  in  a  few  minutes  afterward  —  splash  and 
patter  —  the  rain  is  once  more  dashing  to  the  ground. 
Tanks,  buckets,  jugs  —  any- thing  that  will  hold  it  —  are 
spread  out  to  be  filled  with  the  precious  element.  Not 
many  hours  elapse  before  the  parched  earth  responds,  as 
if  by  magic,  to  the  blessing,  and  with  renewed  vigor 
clothes  itself  in  green. 

Some  of  the  districts  inhabited  by  our  cousins  in  Aus- 
tralia are  liable  to  suffer  from  extreme  drought,  when  the 
river-courses  dry  up  and  the  herds  run  the  risk  of  perish- 
ing. In  many  places  it  would  seem  as  if  Providence  had 
designedly  mitigated  this  climatic  evil  by  means  of  the 
deep  hollows  or  wells  which  occur  so  frequently  in  the 
course  of  the  streams.  Thus  the  general  bed  may  be  dry, 
but  these  natural  tanks  continue  to  hold  a  supply  of 
water  ;  and,  as  if  still  more  plainly  to  indicate  their  benefi- 
cent design,  the  surface  of  the  reservoir  itself  often  be- 
comes covered  with  a  thick  coating  of  vegetation,  which, 
by  interposing  a  screen  between  the  water  and  the  sun, 
tends  to  prevent  loss  by  evaporation. 

Rain  is  so  linked  with  fertility  as  almost  to  be  synony- 
mous with  it,  and  where  none  falls  there  the  desert  must 
be.  The  exceptions  to  this  rule  are  rare,  and  even  these 
are  seeming  rather  than  real.  Thus  Egypt  may  be  de- 
scribed as  a  rainless  country ;  but  the  inundation  of  the 
Nile  stands  in  the  place  of  rain,  and,  in  covering  the  land 
with  its  rich  waters,  deposits  a  soil  of  surpassing  fertility 
Egypt  could  no  more  be  fertile  without  water  than  other 
countries,  and  of  this   the   proof  lies   close  at  hand,  for 


Showers  and  Dew.  117 

immediately  beyond  the  line  of  inundation  the  desert 
begins.  The  rains  which  enrich  Egypt  actually  fall  in 
Abyssinia,  whence  they  are  conveyed  by  the  Nile  as  if  by 
a  channel  of  irrigation.  The  great  deserts  of  the  world 
are  emphatically  the  rainless  districts,  and  they  stretch  in 
an  almost  continuous  belt  across  the  centre  of  the  old 
world.  Beginning  to  the  south  of  Morocco,  not  far  from  l 
the  Atlantic,  they  traverse  wide  regions  lying  beyond  Al- 
giers and  Tunis  ;  they  next  cross  Egypt  into  Arabia  ;  and 
thence  passing  onward  through  Asia  by  the  great  deserts 
of  Tartary,  Thibet,  and  Mongolia,  they  cease  not  until 
they  have  almost  touched  the  shores  of  the  Pacific.  The 
moisture  originally  existing  in  the  winds  which  blew  from 
the  sea  toward  these  deserts  has  either  been  expended 
before  the  winds  reached  them  ;  or,  if  a  portion  of  the 
moisture  still  remain  in  the  atmosphere,  it  is  from  local 
heat  and  dryness  carried  across  their  surface  without  pre- 
cipitation. Let  us  take  the  desert  lying  to  the  north  of 
the  Himalayas  as  an  illustration.  During  the  winter  half 
of  the  year  the  prevailing  wind  blows  from  the  north  and 
east.  Being  cold,  it  has  little  "  capacity  "  for.  moisture  ; 
in  other  words,  it  is  a  dry  wind  ;  and  as  it  travels  south 
and  gets  warmer,  its  tendency  is  rather  to  absorb  moisture 
from  the  sand  than  to  let  it  fall.  During  the  summer  half 
of  the  year,  on  the  other  hand,  the  prevailing  wind  is 
from  the  southwest.  Loaded  with  vapor  gathered  from 
the  Indian  Ocean,  it  sweeps  over  Hindostan,  dropping 
rain  abundantly  in  its  course  ;  and  then,  in  crossing  over 
the  snowy  ridges  of  the  Himalayas,  most  of  the  remaining 
water  is  condensed  out  of  it ;  —  the  monsoon  sponge  has 
been  squeezed  nearly  dry.  In  this  state  it  descends  upon 
the  plains  of  the  desert ;  where  the  sand,  heated  as  in  an 
oven  by  the  summer's  sun,  is  not  in  a  condition  to  draw 
down  the  remnants  of  moisture  still  existing  in  the  air, 
and  so  they  pass  onward  to  the  north.  Thus  no  "  fat- 
ness "  is  dropped   upon   those   sands,  which   are   surely 


1 1 8  Showers  and  Dew. 

doomed  to  barrenness   so  long  as   the  present  cosmical 
arrangements  continue. 

How  many  there  are  who  thoughtlessly  cry  out  against 
the  climate  of  this  favored  land,  and  forget  to  weigh  its 
many  advantages  against  its  few  drawbacks.  In  regard 
to  heat  and  moisture,  it  may  be  said  with  truth,  that  we 
are  equally  removed  from  extremes.  We  neither  bake  in 
the  sun  nearly  all  the  year  round,  like  the  children  of  the 
desert ;  nor  are  we  drenched  in  ever-falling  rain,  like  the 
Indians  of  western  Patagonia;  neither  are  we  dried  up 
for  one  half  of  the  year,  and  soaked  in  rain  during  the 
other,  like  the  people  of  many  tropical  countries.  With 
us,  on  the  whole,  rain  and  sunshine  are  well  balanced ; 
while  the  frequent  changes  enhance  our  perception  of  the 
beauty  and  the  services  of  both.  To  our  frequent,  but 
seldom  persistent,  rains  we  owe  it  that  nowhere  is  verdure 
finer,  and  that  in  few  places  is  it  less  exposed  to  the  de- 
structive influences  of  extreme  drought.  Even  in  gloomy 
winter,  when  rain  sometimes  falls  more  abundantly  than 
is  consistent  with  comfort,  there  is  consolation  in  the 
thought  that  the  rain  which  descends  at  that  season  of  the 
year,  escaping  the  devouring  rays  of  the  sun,  will  sink 
deeply  into  the  soil  and  fill  the  ample  reservoirs  of  the 
earth  with  water.  Thence,  in  the  coming  days  of  the  hot 
summer,  it  will  issue  bright  and  sparkling  to  feed  the 
springs  and  rivulets  that  glisten  over  the  land  and  delight 
us  with  their  freshness. 

Dew  may  be  considered  as  a  kind  of  supplemental  rain, 
depending  on  the  same  cause,  namely,  a  condensation  of 
moisture  from  the  atmosphere.  There  is,  however,  this 
difference  between  them,  that,  while  rain  is  formed  at  a 
greater  or  less  height  in  the  air,  dew  is  formed  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  ground. 

We  need  scarcely  remind  the  reader  that  air — even  the 
dryest  —  always  contains  invisible  vapor.  During  the  day 
the  earth  and  the  air  correspond  sufficiently  in  tempera- 


Showers  and  Dew.  119 

ture  to  prevent  precipitation.  But  as  the  sun  begins  to 
set,  the  earth,  losing  its  heat  by  radiation,  suddenly  cools, 
and  condenses  out  of  the  air  in  contact  with  it  a  portion 
of  its  invisible  vapor.  Hence  the  night  dew.  After  dawn 
the  returning  sun,  by  again  warming  the  air,  enables  it  to 
take  up  moisture  ;  and  then  the  land,  having  still  the  cold- 
ness of  night  upon  it,  immediately  condenses  this  vapor 
into  water.     Hence  the  morning  dew. 

Whatever  favors  the  rapid  cooling  of  the  earth's  surface 
promotes  the  formation  of  dew.  In  cloudy  weather  heat 
is  radiated  as  usual  from  the  earth  after  sunset,  but  it  is 
intercepted  by  the  clouds,  and  radiated  back  toward  the 
earth.  The  temperature  of  the  latter,  therefore,  does  not 
fall  so  much,  and  little  clew  is  formed.  But  in  clear 
weather  the  earth  rapidly  radiates  its  heat  into  space,  and 
there  are  no  clouds  interposed  to  radiate  it  back.  Hence 
the  earth  cools  quickly  and  much  dew  falls. 

When  gardeners  cover  up  their  plants  on  bright  even- 
ings they  act  in  accordance  with  scientific  principles.  The 
matting  prevents  radiation  from  the  earth  ;  or,  rather,  the 
matting  takes  the  place  of  clouds,  and  gives  back  to  the 
earth  much  of  the  heat  it  receives.  In  this  manner  the 
atmosphere  round  the  plants  retains  an  equable  tempera- 
ture. 

Dew  is  twice  specially  introduced  into  the  Benedicite, 
from  which  we  may  infer  the  extreme  importance  attached 
to  it  in  the  countries  with  which  the  Three  Children  were 
familiar.  In  most  parts  of  western  Asia  little  rain  falls 
from  April  to  September,  and  during  this  long  period  of 
drought  the  earth  is  dependent  upon  dew  for  the  scanty 
supply  of  moisture  it  receives.  How  providential  that, 
by  the  ordination  of  the  All-wise  Creator,  dew  should  be 
most  abundant  precisely  at  that  season  of  the  year  when 
the  supply  of  moisture  from  other  sources  is  most  apt  to 
fail.  Scripture  abounds  in  allusions  to  dew  which,  like 
rain,  is  always  associated  with  what  is  good  and  benefi- 


120  Showers  and  Dew. 

cent.  The  "  dews  of  Hermon  "  blessed  the  land  where 
they  fell,  and  the  prosperity  they  brought  passed  into  a 
proverb.  When  a  patriarch  wished  to  bestow  his  blessing, 
he  prayed  that  "  God  might  give  of  the  dews  of  heaven  ; " 
on  the  other  hand,  there  could  be  no  more  withering  curse 
than  what  was  implied  in  their  withdrawal.  "  Ye  moun- 
tains of  Gilboa,  let  there  be  no  dew,  neither  let  there  be 
rain  upon  you." 

Although  the  quantity  of  water  which  is  annually  de- 
posited as  dew  in  this  country  is  small  in  comparison  to 
the  rainfall,  still  it  is  by  no  means  inconsiderable.  Dr. 
Dal  ton  has  estimated  it  at  five  inches,  or  more  than  22 
billions  of  tons  of  water.  In  our  moist  climate  it  is  nat- 
urally of  less  importance  than  in  Syria  or  Mesopotamia ; 
nevertheless  it  is  extremely  serviceable,  and  in  autumn, 
more  especially,  the  grass  would  often  wither  were  it  not 
for  its  daily  steeping  in  dew. 

From  what  has  been  said  it  will  be  perceived  that, 
though  we  commonly  speak  of  dew  "  drops,"  dew  does 
not  really  "  drop  "  from  the  sky,  but  forms  upon  the  sur- 
faces where  it  is  found.  Yet  which  of  us  would  consent 
to  surrender  an  expression  that  has  been  endeared  to  us 
by  familiar  associations  since  .childhood  ?  Dew  "  drops  " 
create  for  us  the  most  perfect  diamond-gardens  in  the 
world.  Well  may  they  challenge  not  a  lenient  but  a  rigor- 
ous comparison  with  their  rivals.  No  diamonds  could  be 
brighter,  more  sparkling,  or  play  more  fancifully  with  the 
rainbow  colors  of  light.  How  incomparably  finer,  too,  the 
setting  !  The  rare  and  costly  mineral  is  mostly  to  be  seen 
in  the  worn  atmosphere  of  crowded  rooms,  and,  like  an 
artificial  beauty,  requires  the  skillful  hand  for  its  display. 
Its  brightness  pales  before  the  light  of  day,  and  needs  the 
garish  lamp  to  stimulate  its  sparkling.  But  the  diamonds 
of  the  garden  or  the  meadow  are  perfect  from  Nature's 
hand.  They  are  set  with  boundless  profusion  on. a  ground 
of  choicest  green,  and  no  art  can  improve  their  new-born 


Shozvers  and  Dezu. 


121 


loveliness.  They  are  to  be  seen  only  in  the  fresh  air  of 
the  morn,  and  the  light  that  suits  them  best  is  the  pure 
light  of  heaven. 

Thou,  0  God  sentest  a  gracious  rain  upon  thine  inheritance,  and  refresh- 
edst  it  when  it  was  weary.  —  Ps.  Ixviii. 


WELLS.      ■ 
O  ye  Wells,  bless  ye  the  Lord:  praise  Him,  and  magnify  Him  for 


ever. 


IN  a  song  of  thankfulness  and  praise  uttered  by 
children  of  the  East  to  the  Giver  of  blessings,  it 
was  to  be  expected  that  the  "  springing  wells  "  of 
the  earth  would  not  be  forgotten.  Almost  always  the 
comfort,  and  sometimes  even  the  existence  of  whole  com- 
munities are  there  dependent  on  them.  In  many  districts 
of  southwestern  Asia  rain  is  scarcely  seen  from  April  to 
September.  The  "  latter  rains  "  which  fell  in  spring  have 
run  off,  or  been  absorbed,  or  evaporated,  and  the  land, 
thirsty  and  parched,  gathers  only  its  precarious  supply  of 
dew.  The  smaller  streams  and  rivulets  are  dry  also,  and 
the  people  must  then  depend  on  such  supplies  as  wells 
can  afford  for  all  the  purposes,  of  the  household.  Hence 
the  prevalence  of  wells  and  fountains  in  the  East.  In  the 
towns  most  of  the  fountains  are  public  ;  other  wells  are 
private  property,  from  which  considerable  profit  is  derived 
by  the  sale  of  water  in  dry  seasons. 

He  who  dwells  amid  the  civilization  of  the  West  can 
scarcely  realize  the  thankfulness  with  which  wells  inspire 
the  mind  of  the  Oriental.  In  the  sandy  deserts  they  are 
of  the  first  necessity,  forming  as  it  were  the  stepping-stones 
by  which  travellers  direct  their  route.  Districts  are  named 
from  their  wells.  Their  geological  history  is  often  myste- 
rious, but  nothing  can  be  more  obvious  than  that  they  are 
providentially  placed  for  the  purpose  of  making  those 
wastes  passable.     The  overflow  of  the  well  sinks  into  the 


Wells. 


123 


sand  around,  and  illustrates  in  a  very  ren  arkable  manner 
the  fertilizing  power  of  water.  The  debris  of  successive 
vegetations  at  length  creates  an  oasis  of  richest  soil  —  an 
island  of  verdant  beauty  in  the  midst  of  a  sea  of  sand. 
The  surface  is  softly  carpeted  with  grass,  while  date-trees 
and  other  kinds  of  palms  beckon  the  traveler  toward  it 
from  afar,  and  shade  him  from  the  sun.  What  can  be 
more  natural  than  that  the  pious  Arab  should  approach 
those  wells  with  emotions  of  thankfulness,  or  that  while 
quenching  his  thirst  he  should  seldom  omit  to  offer  a 
prayer  both  for  him  who  originally  dug  the  well,  and  for 
the  generous  owner  who  permits  it  to  be  so  freely  used  ? 
It  is  said  that,  for  the  sake  of  the  blessings  thus  daily 
poured  upon  his  head,  the  proprietor  of  a  well  can  seldom 
bring  his  mind  to  sell  it,  unless  driven  by  dire  necessity 
to  make  the  sacrifice.  To  prevent  loss  by  excessive  evap- 
oration, as  well  as  choking  up  by  drifting  sand,  wells  in 
the  East  are  usually  kept  covered,  and  so  precious  is  the 
water  that  in  many  instances  they  are  locked  also.  To 
poison  a  well  is  an  act  which  is  considered  to  be  justified 
only  by  the  extremity  of  warfare,  while  its  complete  de- 
struction is  thought  to  be  little  less  than  sacrilege.  The 
well  is  universally  held  to  be  a  special  gift  of  God  intended 
for  all  his  thirsty  creatures. 

Holy  Scripture  abounds  in  allusions  to  wells,  and  noth- 
ing better  illustrates  the  importance  attached  to  them  in 
the  East  from  the  earliest  times  than  the  narrative  re- 
corded in  the  26th  chapter  of  Genesis.  Isaac,  forced  by 
famine  to  leave  his  country,  dwelt  in  Gerar,  and  there 
"  waxed  great :  for  he  had  possession  of  flocks,  and  pos- 
session of  herds,  and  great  store  of  servants  :  and  the 
Philistines  envied  him."  Then  Abimelech  the  king  said 
unto  Isaac,  "  Go  from  us  ;  for  thou  art  much  mightier 
than  we.  And  Isaac  departed  thence,  and  pitched  his 
tent  in  the  valley  of  Gerar,  and  dwelt  there.  And  Isaac 
digged  again  the  wells  of  water,  which  they  had  digged  in 


124  Wells. 

the  days  of  Abraham  his  father ;  for  the  Philistines  had 
stopped  them  after  the  death  of  Abraham  :  and  he  called 
their  names  after  the  names  by  which  his  father  had  called 
them.  And  Isaac's  servants  digged  in  the  valley,  and 
found  there  a  well  of  springing  water.  And  the  herdmen 
of  Gerar  did  strive  with  Isaac's  herdmen,  saying,  The 
water  is  ours  :  and  he  called  the  name  of  the  well  Esek  ; 
because  they  strove  with  him.  And  they  digged  another 
well,  and  strove  for  that  also :  and  he  called  the  name  of 
it  Sitnah,"  for  it  was  associated  with  hatred.  "  And  he 
removed  from  thence  and  digged  another  well ;  and  for 
that  they  strove  not."  It  was  a  contest  between  those 
who  dug  the  well  and  the  herdsmen  who  possessed  the 
territorial  right  to  the  water.  The  possession  of  a  well 
was  the  necessary  complement  to  the  other  means  of  liv- 
ing, and  so  long  as  one  could  not  be  obtained  the  tribe 
was  obliged  to  move  onward. 

The  wells  that  form  in  the  coral  islands  of  the  Pacific 
seem  even  more  strikingly  providential  than  those  of  the 
desert.  Scarcely  has  the  bare  rock  risen  above  the  waves 
before  it  begins  to  possess  its  well  of  water.  The  salt 
ocean  is  without,  and  the  salt  ocean  fills  the  lagoon  usually 
included  within,  yet,  on  the  mere  rim  of  coral  rock  that 
lies  between,  fresh  water  is  to  be  obtained  when  a  hole  is 
bored.  So  generally  is  this  understood  by  sailors  that  they 
are  in  the  habit  of  touching  at  these  solitary  spots  to  fill 
their  tanks.  Thus,  in  the  creation  of  what  is  soon  to  be 
another  island  added  to  the  fertile  area  of  the  world,  wells 
of  fresh  water  are  the  first  provision  for  the  higher  forms 
of  life  which  Nature  produces.  Whence  comes  this  water  ? 
The  general  opinion  is,  that  it  freshens  itself  in  filtering 
through  from  the  ocean  ;  but  Darwin,  after  much  attention 
to  the  subject,  considers  it  to  be  the  mere  surface  drainage 
of  the  island.  In  any  case,  the  fact  remains  as  a  striking 
example  of  providential  forethought  in  thus  creating  wells 
for   the  sake,  not  only  of  the   traders  who  casually  touch 


Wells.  125 

there,  but  also  for  the  settlers  who  in  process  of  time  come 
to  occupy  the  island. 

Of  the  rain  that  drops  from  the  clouds  much  is  at  once 
returned  into  the  air  by  evaporation  to  keep  up  the  supply 
of  atmospheric  moisture,  while  much  also  passes  off  as 
surface  drainage,  battling  its  way  into  the  nearest  brook. 
But  after  these  demands  have  been  satisfied,  there  still 
remains  a  third  portion  which  sinks  down  into  the  porous 
earth,  and  commences  by  subterraneous  routes  its  return 
homeward  to  the  sea.  Imagination  longs  to  be  able  to 
follow  the  course  of  those  mysterious  wanderings,  and  to 
fill  up  the  gap  in  the  history  of  the  spring  which  is  seen 
bubbling  up  in  the  plain  from  the  time  when  its  constitu- 
ent drops  fell  among  the  distant  mountains.  Through 
what  curious  scenery  the  source  of  the  future  river  may 
have  been  creeping  —  among  what  rocks  and  caverns  and 
windings  in  the  secret  paths  of  the  earth  —  what  minia- 
ture rapids  it  may  form  in  regions  too  deep  for  human 
ken  —  now  gliding  gently  along  over  rocky  plateaus,  now 
lingering  among  sands,  or  in  the  narrow  slits  of  the  strata  ! 
And  thus  the  rill  may  journey  on  until,  wearied  with  sub- 
terranean gloom,  it  regains  the  light  of  day  as  the  useful 
well  or  gushing  spring,  nourishing  the  earth  as  it  flows, 
and  refreshing  botrumah  and  beast  with  a  constancy  of 
supply  which  often  contrasts  with  the  fitful  rainfall. 

When  it  is  desired  to  supply  our  towns  with  water  we 
do  not  rest  satisfied  with  converging  upon  them  the  con- 
tents of  numerous  rills  by  means  of  an  ample  conduit. 
During  the  hot  summer  days  these  sources  might  dry  up, 
and  the  people  might  thus  be  left  in  want.  So  the  dan- 
ger is  warded  off  by  storing  up  water  abundantly  during 
the  rainy  season  in  a  reservoir,  from  which  supplies  may 
be  drawn  for  the  town  in  times  of  drought.  In  this  man- 
ner a  liberal  allowance  of  water  is  securely  maintained 
independently  of  the  vicissitudes  of  weather.  Now  in  this 
arrangement  we  are  only  imitating  the  wise  example  of 


126  Wells. 

Providence.  The  town  which  Nature  has  to  supply  is  the 
whole  earth.  For  this  purpose  the  rainfall  is  undoubtedly 
her  "  main,"  and  does  the  chief  part  of  the  work ;  but 
rain,  though  wonderfully  regular  on  the  whole,  is  some- 
times capricious  in  single  seasons,  and  oftener  still  in  the 
different  periods  of  a  season.  Something  supplementary 
was,  therefore,  needed  to  husband  and  equalize  the  sup- 
ply, and  to  provide  for  its  regularity  independently  of  the 
varying  rainfall.  So  Nature  formed  reservoirs  of  water  in 
the  earth,  which,  taken  on  the  whole,  are  subject  to  very 
little  change.  The  superficial  layers  of  the  crust  of  the 
earth  are  in  fact  one  vast  storehouse  of  water,  for  moisture 
pervades  them  through  and  through.  We  habitually 
speak  of  "  the  dry  rock ;  "  but  even  the  dryest  rock  con- 
tains water  lodged  in  it  as  in  a  sponge,  of  which  nothing 
less  potent  than  the  furnace  can  deprive  it.  "  Some  gran- 
ites," says  Professor  Ansted,  "  in  their  ordinary  state  con- 
tain a  pint  and  a  half  in  every  cubic  foot."  Limestone 
and  marble  find  room  for  considerably  more.  Chalk  is 
also  highly  absorbent,  many  of  its  strata  being  able  to 
take  up  half  their  bulk  of  water  without  even  appearing 
to  be  moist.  Ordinary  sandstones  hold  nearly  a  gallon  in 
a  cubic  foot ;  and  "  in  the  best  building-stones  belonging  to 
the  sandstone  group,  from  four  to  five  pints  of  water  are 
contained  in  each  cubic  foot  of  the  stone."  "  The  quan- 
tity of  water  capable  of  being  held  by  common  loose  sea- 
sand  amounts  to  at  least  two  gallons  in  a  cubic  foot." 
But  the  great  tanks  of  the  earth  are  formed  more  espe- 
cially by  layers  of  sand,  which  everywhere  alternate  with 
the  harder  rocks.  Into  these  the  water  is  constantly 
soaking  and  accumulating  for  the  supply  of  wells  and 
springs  all  over  the  world.  While  rainy  seasons  fill  these 
reservoirs,  the  dryest  season  does  not  exhaust  them  ;  and 
hence  the  springs  in  connection  with  them  appear,  like 
the  conduits  of  a  well-supplied  town,  to  be  independent 
both  of  rain  and  drought. 


Wells.  1 2  7 

Though  limestone  rocks  absorb  less  than  sandstone, 
they  carry  the  water  better  ;  for  they  are  more  fissured, 
and  their  substance  is  more  easily  rubbed  away  or  dis- 
solved by  the  passing  current.  By  this  means,  chiefly, 
have  the  famous  caverns  in  the  limestone  rocks  of  Adels- 
berg,  Derbyshire,  and  elsewhere  been  formed.  Hence  the 
subterranean  rivers  found  in  Styria  and  in  various  other 
parts  of  the  world.  No  one  who  has  visited  the  caves  at 
Adelsberg  can  have  forgotten  how  the  Poik,  there  larger 
and  swifter  than  the  Mole  where  it  joins  the  Thames, 
plunges  amid  the  gloom  into  the  tunneled  mountain  and 
is  lost.  Its  course  no  one  knows,  but  bits  of  wood  and 
other  pilot  substances  borne  along  in  its  mysterious  wan- 
dering proclaim  its  identity  with  the  Unz,  which  emerges 
as  a  full-formed  river  at  Planina,  ten  miles  beyond,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  mountain.  At  Cong  in  Ireland,  famous 
for  its  Cross,  there  is  another  remarkable  example  of  the 
same  kind,  where  the  river  joining  Loch  Corrib  and  Loch 
Mask  rushes  through  a  subterranean  channel  in  the  lime- 
stone roc'.s.  To  this  tendency  in  the  limestone  strata  to 
fissure  uid  separate  into  ledges  which  form  underground 
passages  we  owe  what  are  termed  "  swallows  "  in  streams. 
Of  these  we  have  an  example  near  London  in  the  Mole, 
which  partially  "  hides  her  diving  flood  "  in  traversing  the 
picturesque  vale  of  Mickleham ;  but  a  much  more  perfect 
instance  occurs  in  the  wolds  of  Yorkshire,  not  far  from 
Mai  ton. 

In  this  moist  climate  of  England  a  hole  dug  in  the 
ground  usually  produces,  at  no  great  distance  from  the  sur- 
face, a  moderate  supply  of  water  from  the  superficial  drain- 
age ;  but  such  wells  are,  of  course,  much  influenced  by 
the  season,  and  in  periods  of  drought  are  apt  to  dry  up 
altogether.  By  digging  deeper,  water-bearing  strata  are 
reached  which  are  more  abundantly  supplied,  as  they  rep- 
resent the  drainage  of  larger  districts  of  country.  If  these 
districts  lie  no  higher  than  the  place   where  the  well  is 


128  Wells. 

sunk,  the  water  will  not  rise  so  as  to  fill  the  shaft ;  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  if  the  water  has  flowed  down  from  higher 
districts,  it  will,  under  certain  circumstances,  rise  in  the 
well  to  the  surface,  or  even  above  it,  to  a  height  in  propor- 
tion to  the  level  where  it  originally  fell.  It  is  believed 
that  the  Egyptians  and  Chinese  were  practically  ac- 
quainted with  this  fact  at  a  very  remote  period,  and  the 
excavations  that  can  still  be  traced  attest  how  extensively 
they  turned  it  to  account.  Of  late  years  this  mode  of  ob- 
taining water  has  been  largely  adopted  in  Europe,  and  the 
name  Artesian  has  been  generally  applied  to  these  wells 
on  account  of  the  success  which  attended  the  earliest 
efforts  made  at  Artois.  Of  all  the  wells  of  this  kind  the 
most  famous  is  that  of  Grenelle,  near  Paris. 

Geologically  considered,  Paris  occupies  a  site  very  sim- 
ilar to  that  of  London.  The  shaft  at  Grenelle,  therefore, 
first  pierced  through  layers  of  clay,  gravels,  and  sands 
such  as  we  are  familiar  with  round  our  own  metropolis, 
and  then  through  the  chalk,  until  it  reached  the  underlying 
Green  Sand.  In  the  spongy  strata  of  this  formation  vast 
quantities  of  water  had  accumulated  by  constantly  drain- 
ing down  into  it,  as  into  a  cistern,  from  extensive  higher- 
lying  districts  beyond  the  chal,k.  The  lateral  pressure 
upon  the  water  in  this  immense  tank  was  therefore  enor- 
mous. Its  floor  was  formed  of  impervious  clays  or  rocks, 
while  it  was  shut  in  above  by  a  thick  lid  of  chalk.  The 
moment  the  lid  was  tapped  by  the  borer,  up  rushed  the 
water  as  if  through  the  pipe  of  a  water-work,  reaching  not 
only  to  the  surface  but  spouting  into  the  air  to  the  height 
of  1 20  feet.  The  supply  was  at  the  rate  of  a  million  gal- 
lons a  day.  There  are  many  Artesian  wells  in  London ; 
but  the  water  is  obtained  from  the  more  superficial  strata 
lying  above  the  chalk  \  and  as  the  water,  therefore,  does 
not  in  most  cases  rise  nearly  to  the  surface,  it  has  to  be 
aided  or  lifted  up  by  supplemental  pumps.  Artesian  wells 
are  also  common  in  Liverpool,  in  the  new  red  sandstone  \ 


Wells.  129 

at  Cambridge,  where  the  water-beaiing  strata  lie  under  the 
gault  j  and  in  many  other  places. 

Now  and  then  it  happens  that  Nature  taps  these  high- 
pressure  water-boxes  for  herself,  and  the  stream  rushes  up 
through  a  "  bore  "  of  her  own  making  with  a  force  that 
projects  it  into  the  air.  In  the  case  of  the  famous  Geysers 
in  Iceland  the  projecting  force,  as  pointed  out  by  Sir  C. 
Lyell,  is  due  to  the  pressure  of  steam  acting  at  intervals, 
somewhat  in  the  same  way  in  which  the  steam  that  accu- 
mulates under  the  lid  of  a  kettle  forces  the  boiling:  water 
with  violence  through  the  spout.  Occasionally  the  force 
may  be  of  a  somewhat  mixed  kind,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
Sprudel  at  Carlsbad.  Although  the  height  to  which  that 
fountain  spouts  is  not  great,  the  gush  of  water  is  large ; 
while  the  accessories  of  scenery  are  such  as  to  produce 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  interesting:  sights  to  be 
found  in  Europe. 

The  water  that  sinks  into  the  earth  on  higher  levels,  af- 
ter collecting  into  tricklings,  and  wandering  through  chinks 
and  over  ledges,  is  ultimately  turned  by  some  impenetrable 
obstacle  toward  the  surface,  where  it  breaks  forth  as  a 
sparkling  fountain.  In  no  fairer  shape  does  Nature  spread 
out  her  water-treasures  before  us.  How  refreshing;  the 
draught  thus  obtained  at  first  hand  !  How  cool  in  sum- 
mer, how  temperate  in  winter,  for  it  comes  from  those  deep 
regions  of  the  earth  which  are  equally  shielded  from  sun 
and  frost.  What  a  difference  there  is  between  the  tame 
water  of  the  "  main,"  and  the  living  crystal  of  "  the  source." 
Such  a  spot  is  well  worthy  of  a  pilgrimage,  and  adds  a 
fresh  pleasure  to  the  summer  day's  ramble.  It  is  like  re 
pairing  to  a  garden  to  eat  fruit  newly  plucked  by  one's  own 
hand  from  the  tree.  What  sight  more  tempting  when  the 
sun  is  high.  How  pleasant  to  play  with  the  clear  water, 
and  how  difficult  to  pass  before  a  gushing  spring  without 
lingering  for  a  moment  to  listen  and  to  look  ! 

Springs  sometimes  partially  tell  the  history  of  their  own 


1 30  Wells. 

wanderings  when  they  assume  the  character  of  "mineral 
waters."  The  rain  that  has  fallen  often  becomes  charged 
with  carbonic  acid  gas  from  the  air,  or  from  the  vegetable 
soil  through  which  it  percolates,  and,  having  thus  acquired 
the  power  of  dissolving  the  limestone  or  the  chalk  through 
which  it  has  filtered,  emerges  into  clay  as  "  hard  "  or  cal- 
careous water.  Occasionally  its  route  has  lain  among  iron- 
freighted  rocks,  sands,  or  clays,  and  the  ordinary  strength- 
giving  chalybeate  of  carbonated  iron  is  prepared  ready  to 
our  hands.  Sometimes  the  water  visits  the  secret  labora- 
tories of  the  earth,  where  chemical  forces  are  at  work  on 
decomposing  pyrites,  from  which  it  brings  to  us  iron  in 
a  less  common  form,  or  in  union  with  sulphuric  acid.  Or 
it  may  absorb  the  gases  formed  during  these  decomposi- 
tions, and  appear  to  us  as  the  unsavory  but  useful  sulphur 
well.  Again,  its  course  may  lie  among  the  salt-bearing 
strata  of  the  earth,  where  the  varying  kinds  of  "  saline 
mineral  waters  "  are  mixed  by  Nature  herself  to  benefit 
mankind.  Sometimes  the  subterranean  streamlet  may 
wander  into  those  heated  depths  where  chemical  action  is 
forging  the  materials  of  the  earth  into  new  shapes,  or  where 
the  internal  furnace  of  the  globe  imparts  to  the  water  a 
portion  of  its  own  warmth  ;  and  then  the  streamlet,  turned 
in  an  opposite  direction,  may  be  urged  toward  the  surface 
by  pressure  from  below,  until  it  bursts  into  the  world  as  a 
"  hot  spring.  " 

The  water  of  springs  and  wells  is  never  met  with  in  a 
state  of  absolute  purity,  but  the  slight  admixture  of  for- 
eign substances  usually  present,  while  it  does  not  impair 
general  usefulness,  is  attended  with  certain  special  advan- 
tages. By  distillation  pure  water  can  always  be  readily 
obtained,  and  it  is  then  in  its  most  active  state.  But  this 
very  condition,  so  essential  to  the  chemist  and  the  manu- 
facturer, would  diminish  the  utility  of  water  for  drinking 
and  other  domestic  purposes.  Water  would  then  have 
been  prone  to  dissolve  many  deleterious  substances  —  such 


Wells.  131 

as  lead  —  from  contact  with  which  it  is  difficult  to  guard  it 
at  all  times,  but  on  which,  in  its  naturally  impure  state  it 
cannot  act.  Another  valuable  "  impurity  "  found  in  water 
is  air,  either  fixed  or  common,  by  which  it  is  rendered 
pleasant  and  sparkling  as  a  beverage,  while  at  the  same 
time  it  acquires  the  important  property  of  boiling  without 
danger.  When  water  has  been  carefully  deprived  of  air,  it 
may  be  heated  up  to  2400  Fahrenheit  before  it  begins  to 
boil,  but  it  is  then  apt  to  pass  off  suddenly  into  vapor 
with  explosive  violence.  Let  any  one  try  to  realize  the 
inconvenience  which  so  unmanageable  a  property  would 
have  introduced  into  the  kitchen  and  the  manufactory. 
We  may  here  mark  with  admiration  how  different  quali- 
ties, even  to  the  most  minute  details,  have  been  impressed 
on  substances  by  the  great  Creator,  with  evident  fore- 
thought for  the  comfort  and  happiness  of  His  creatures. 
In  considering  the  fountains  of  the  earth  as  blessings 
for  which  praise  and  thankfulness  are  specially  due,  we 
must  not  pass  from  the  subject  without  more  particularly 
alluding  to  those  healing  virtues  with  which  some  of  them 
have  been  endowed.  Mineral  waters  are  of  the  most 
varied  character ;  and  there  are,  perhaps,  few  chronic 
forms  of  disease  against  which  they  may  not  be  usefully 
employed  at  one  stage  or  another.  Providence,  too,  ever 
bountiful  as  kind,  has  scattered  them  profusely  over  most 
parts  of  the  world,  and  thousands  upon  thousands  annu- 
ally owe  to  them  the  blessing  of  restored  health.  They 
are  gifts  from  a  source  that  lies  beyond  our  ken,  and  mod- 
ern science  with  all  its  progress  cannot  supersede  them. 
We  know  to  a  nicety  the  constituents  of  the  most  famous 
springs  ;  they  have  been  analyzed  and  imitated  most  per- 
fectly ;  but  there  is  a  point  of  difference  between  the  real 
and  the  artificial  which  no  art  can  seize.  Nature  is  a 
cunning  worker,  and  in  her  laboratory  she  compounds  the 
"  mineral  water  "  under  conditions  of  which  we  are  ig- 
norant, but  from  which,  nevertheless,  are  derived  special 


I32  Welts. 

virtues  which  similar  ingredients  mixed  artificially  never 
acquire.  Even  in  so  simple  a  matter  as  the  manufacture 
of  hot  water  there  is  a  difference  ;  as  all  may  have  expe- 
rienced who  have  contrasted  the  comparative  pungency 
of  a  bath  of  artificially  heated  water  with  the  softness  of 
another  that  has  been  warmed  in  Nature's  own  boilers.  It 
is  a  most  singular  circumstance  that  the  ingredient  to 
which  many  celebrated  wells  are  believed  to  owe  their 
chief  efficacy  is  the  virulent  poison  arsenic.  Wiesbaden, 
Spa,  and  Kissingen  contain  that  substance  in  union  with 
iron,  and  it  is  also  widely  diffused  in  the  waters  of  our 
own  country.  Thus  may  it  be  seen  how  skillfully  Nature 
can  administer  the  most  active  poisons  for  our  advantage. 
The  special  virtue  lies  no  doubt  partially  in  the  smallness 
of  the  close  and  the  accuracy  of  the  compounding  •  but 
much  may  be  due  to  those  unknown  conditions  under 
which  the  mixture  is  prepared.  It  might  have  been  ex- 
pected that  mineral  waters,  in  passing  among  the  beds 
whence  they  extract  their  components,  would  have  varied 
materially  by  being  sometimes  strong  and  at  another  time 
weak.  But  although  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  variations 
do  occasionally  occur,  still  it  is  found  that  substantially 
the  same  spring  flows  on  with  wonderfully  little  change 
from  generation  to  generation.  From  this  cause  arises 
one  chief  reason  of  the  safety  of  their  administration  and 
the  uniformity  of  the  results  obtained  from  them. 

In  our  own  country  *  we  have  reason  to  be  thankful  for 
many  famous  wells,  which,  in  a  general  way,  may  be  con- 
sidered efficacious  for  all  purposes  to  which  mineral  waters 
are  usually  applied.  Thus  there  are  potent  chalybeates 
at  Tonbridge,  Harrogate,  and  elsewhere.  There  are 
"salines"  at  Leamington,  Cheltenham,  Bridge  of  Allan, 
and  in  many  other  places.  We  have  sulphur  wells  at 
Harrogate  and  Moffat,  and  hot  springs  at  Bath,  Clifton, 

*  England.     The  same  may  be  said  of  the  mineral  springs  of  Saratoga 
and  in  Virginia.  E.  J. 


Wells.  133 

Matlock,  and  Buxton.  In  the  olden  time,  when  medicine 
was  in  its  infancy,  when  no  more  skillful  physician  was  to 
be  found  than  the  neighboring  monk,  and  no  better  drugs 
than  the  simples  that  grew  in  the  Abbey  garden,  our  an- 
cestors placed  unbounded  faith  in  wells,  and  there  was 
not  a  county  in  the  realm  which  could  not  boast  of  its 
famous  spring.  According  to  the  custom  of  the  time, 
every  well  was  dedicated  to  the  honor  of  some  patron 
saint,  and  it  may  be  affirmed  that  more  than  one  name 
would  perhaps  have  slipped  out  of  the  Calendar  had  it 
not  been  preserved  in  association  with  those  springs. 
Pilgrimages  of  a  mixed  sanitary  and  religious  character 
used  to  be  made  to  wells  of  note,  and  it  is  curious  to  ob- 
serve to  how  late  a  period  the  custom  was  kept  up.  Pen- 
nant tells  us,  that  in  his  time  pilgrimages  to  St.  Winifred's 
Well,  at  Holywell  in  Flintshire,  had  not  been  entirely  dis- 
continued. "  In  summer,"  he  says,  "  a  few  are  still  to  be 
seen  in  the  water  in  deep  devotion,  up  to  their  chins  for 
hours,  sending  up  their  prayers."  How  different  the  feel- 
ings with  which  gay  spas,  especially  on  the  Continent,  are 
visited  in  these  days  !  Customs  no  doubt  change.  There 
is  a  time  and  a  place  for  every  thing,  and  the  pump-room 
and  the  bath  seem  scarcely  suited  to  religious  medita- 
tion. Still  it  must  be  admitted  that  in  principle,  at  least, 
our  forefathers  were  in  the  right ;  and  that  their  fervent 
thankfulness,  even  though  shown  under  circumstances  that 
might  provoke  a  smile,  was  infinitely  preferable  to  our 
frivolity.  Surely  the  place  where  an  invalid  day  by  clay  is 
conscious  of  the  blessing  of  returning  health,  ought  above 
all  others  to  be  the  place  where  the  Giver  of  health  should 
not  be  forgotten. 

Like  as  the  hart  desireth  the  water-brooks;  so  longeth  my  soul  after  Thee, 
0  God.  — Ps.  xlii. 


SEAS  AND  FLOODS. 

O  ye  Seas  and  Floods,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise  Hi/n,  and  mag* 

nify  Him  for  e<ver. 

| HO  is  there  that  does  not  love  to  wander  by  the 
sea-shore  ?  Its  varying  aspects  have  suggested 
to  poets  some  of  their  finest  thoughts  ;  and,  when 
they  fail  to  inspire,  they  often  lead  on  even  ordinary  minds 
to  a  point  not  far  removed  from  the  line  where  poetry  be- 
gins. There  are  some  subjects,  indeed,  which  do  a  great 
deal  for  themselves,  and  from  their  own  attractiveness  are 
not  easily  spoiled  even  though  handled  clumsily.  Thus 
the  commonplace  flights  of  fellow-strollers  afford  on  such 
occasions  a  pleasure  which  their  intrinsic  merit  does  not 
explain  ;  but  sympathy  is  a  powerful  varnish  which  hides 
defects  and  stifles  criticism.  Poetical  ideas,  moreover, 
may  lighten  up  the  mind  with  their  own  beauty  and  be 
thoroughly  felt  and  enjoyed,  although,  in  struggling  for 
outward  expression,  they  cannot  bring  together  the  right 
words  and  often  deviate  into  very  common  prose. 

In  strolling  along  the  shore  we  find  ourselves  sur- 
rounded on  all  sides  by  objects  to  interest  and  admire. 
The  cliff  and  the  sands,  the  boulder  rock  and  the  pebbly 
beach  —  each  has  its  charm.  The  ocean  enhances  beauty 
where  beauty  already  exists ;  and  it  often  creates  beauty 
where,  but  for  the  charm  which  it  bestows,  there  would  be 
nothing  to  admire.  On  the  open  shore  the  air  takes  hold 
of  us  more  bracingly  than  elsewhere  ;  we  realize  more 
thoroughly  the  healthful  consciousness  of  its  presence ; 
the  drooping  nerves    are    strung  again  into   vigor,  as   if 


Seas  and  Floods.  135 

watered  with  its  freshness.  Here,  as  in  other  scenes, 
Nature  has  her  characteristic  sounds  with  which  she  re- 
gales the  listener.  The  cry  of  the  wildfowl  is  music  to 
him  especially  whose  path  of  life  lies  in  the  crowded  city  ; 
and  the  murmur  of  the  crisp  ripple  or  the  booming  of  the 
wave  falls  pleasingly  on  the  ear.  There  is  a  world  of 
plantal  and  animal  life  spread  out  before  us,  and  we  have 
only  to  look  and  to  handle  in  order  to  be  interested.  How 
precious  now  are  the  scraps  and  fragments  of  Natural 
History  which  we  can  bring  to  bear.  Nowhere  is  knowl- 
edge more  enjoyment-bringing,  for  nowhere  are  the  ar- 
rangements which  God  has  made  for  the  welfare  of  his 
humble  creatures  more  conspicuous.  How  swiftly  the  time 
flies  as  we  probe  and  peer  into  the  clear  lakelets  that  gath- 
er round  the  boulders  on  the  sands  or  in  the  hollows  of  the 
rocks.  The  eye  wanders  delightedly  among  the  many- 
colored  tufts  of  algae  that  clothe  their  coasts  and  depths. 
These  miniature  forests  teem  with  varied  life,  and  many  a 
little  creature  finds  in  their  recesses  a  secure  retreat  from 
cruel  foes.  Stealthily  we  draw  near  to  those  pools,  seek- 
ing not  to  destroy  but  to  admire,  and  feel  well  rewarded  if 
we  obtain  but  a  glimpse  of  their  inhabitants. 

Not  less  pleasant  is  it  to  retreat  step  by  step  before  the 
returning  tide,  to  lose  the  dreary  sands  as  they  are  again 
covered  up  in  their  mantle  of  water,  and  to  watch  the 
thousand  eager  streams  rushing  in  from  the  sea  among  the 
rocks,  and  once  more  joining  on  to  the  boundless  ocean 
the  pools  we  have  been  surveying.  What  a  change  sud- 
denly passes  over  the  black  and  yellow  seaweed  !  A 
moment  before  it  lay  dingy  and  motionless  upon  the  rocks, 
but  now,  revived  as  it  were  into  new  life  by  the  return  of 
the  sea,  it  begins  to  float  and  wave  its  pennons.  The 
mussels  and  periwinkles,  the  limpets  and  the  sea-acorns 
which,  an  instant  before,  were  glued  to  the  rocks  as  faded 
and  dead-like  as  the  stones  themselves,  now  hear  the  rush- 
ing sound  and  welcome  the  returning  water.     In  another 


136  Seas  and  Floods. 

minute  these  trusting  waiters  upon  Providence  will  be 
opening  their  mouths  to  the  currents  which  bring  them 
their  "  daily  bread,"  rasping  their  food  from  the  tough  sea- 
weed with  their  file-like  tongues,  or  raking  in  supplies  with 
their  handy  tentacles.  The  ever- bountiful  Sea  will  surely 
bring  nourishment  to  them  all  —  not  one  will  be  forgotten 
by  Our  Father. 

The  eyes  of  all  wait  upon  Thee,  0  Lord;  and  Thou  givest  them  their  meat 
in  due  season.  — Ps.  cxlv. 

The  lower  depths  of  ocean  are  still  a  mystery,  although 
of  late  years  the  diving-bell,  the  dredge,  and  the  plummet 
have  added  much  to  our  knowledge  both  of  its  bed  and  its 
inhabitants.  In  a  general  way  its  bed  resembles  the  land 
—  now  rising  into  mountains,  now  sinking  into  valleys,  or 
spreading  out  into  table-lands.  The  deepest  recesses 
below  the  level  of  the  sea-surface  are  believed  to  be  about 
equal  to  the  height  of  the  highest  hills  above  it ;  but  so 
inconsiderable  is  this  depth  in  relation  to  the  diameter  of 
the  earth,  that  a  mere  film  of  water  laid  upon  a  sixteen- 
inch  globe  with  a  camel's-hair  pencil  would  adequately 
represent  it.  It  is  difficult  to  say  at  what  depth  life  be- 
comes extinct ;  but  just  as  in  ascending  into  the  air  on 
lofty  mountains  there  is  a  limit  beyond  which  nothing  liv- 
ing can  maintain  itself,  so  in  descending  into  the  depths 
of  ocean  a  stratum  is  reached  below  which  life  cannot  exist. 
The  life  which  we  know  has  a  frontier  downward  as  well 
as  upward.  The  floor  of  the  Atlantic  appears  in  some 
places  to  be  a  vast  sepulchre,  for  at  Telegraph-ridge  it 
was  found  at  a  depth  of  two  miles  to  be  completely  covered 
with  calcareous  and  siliceous  remains  of  microscopic  ani- 
malcules. There  the  deposit  may  go  on  increasing  and 
thickening,  until,  under  the  vast  pressure  of  the  overlying 
mass,  the  limestone  strata  of  new  continents  have  been 
founded.  It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  modern  observa- 
tion has  completely  overturned  the  gloomy  picture  of  the 


Seas  and  Floods.  137 

bottom  of  the  ocean  which  fancy  suggested  to  Shake- 
speare, but  which,  in  the  absence  of  all  practical  data,  has 
stood  its  ground  popularly  almost  up  to  the  present  time. 
Schleiden  says  that  "we  dive  into  the  liquid  crystal  of  the 
Indian  Ocean,  and  it  opens  out  to  us  the  most  wondrous 
enchantments  of  the  fairy  tales  of  our  childhood's  dreams." 
The  Professor's  description  is  too  long  for  quotation  here, 
but  it  introduces  us  to  sub-marine  scenery  where  "  strangely 
branching  thickets  bear  living  flowers.  The  coloring  sur- 
passes every  thing  :  vivid  green  alternates  with  brown  or 
yellow  :  rich  tints  of  purple,  from  pale  red  -  brown  to 
deepest  blue."  "There  are  Gorgonias  with  their  yellow 
and  lilac  fans,  perforated  like  trellis-work  :  leafy  Flustras 
adhering  to  the  coral  branches  like  mosses  and  lichens  : 
yellow,  green,  and  purple-striped  limpets  resembling  mon- 
strous cochineal  insects  upon  their  trunks."  "  Like  gigan- 
tic cactus-blossoms  sparkling  in  the  most  ardent  colors,  the 
sea-anemones  expand  their  crowns  of  tentacles  upon  the 
broken  rocks,  or  more  modestly  embellish  the  flat  bottom, 
looking  as  if  they  were  beds  of  variegated  Ranunculuses. 
Around  the  blossoms  of  the  coral  shrubs  play  the  "  hum- 
ming-birds "  of  the  ocean,  little  fish  sparkling  with  red  or 
blue  metallic  glitter,  or  gleaming  in  golden  green,  or  with 
the  brightest  silvery  lustre."  The  many-tinted  phosphor- 
escent lights  of  the  ocean  crown  this  gorgeous  painting, 
and  "  complete  the  wonders  of  the  enchanted  night." 
"  The  most  luxuriant  vegetation  of  a  tropical  landscape," 
continues  the  Professor,  "  cannot  unfold  as  great  wealth 
of  form,  while  in  variety  and  splendor  of  color  it  would 
stand  far  behind  this  garden  landscape,  which  is  strangely 
composed  exclusively  of  animals,  and  not  of  plants.  What- 
ever is  beautiful,  wondrous,  or  uncommon  in  the  great 
classes  of  fish  and  Echinoderms,  jelly-fishes  and  polypes, 
and  mollusks  of  all  kinds,  is  crowded  into  the  warm  and 
crystal  waters  of  the  tropical  ocean." 

The  abundance  of  animal  life  in  the  ocean  greatly  ex- 


138  Seas  and  Floods. 

ceeds  that  on  land.  The  sea  affords  a  home  for  the  largest 
of  known  animals  as  well  as  for  the  most  minute :  life 
teems  everywhere.  Scoresby  once  sailed  through  a  patch 
of  the  Greenland  Sea — 20,000  square  miles  in  extent  — 
covered  with  a  species  of  medusa  on  which  the  whale  feeds, 
and  he  calculated  that  every  square  mile  contained  23 
quadrillions  ZZZ  trillions  of  independent  living  creatures  ! 
He  did  his  best,  moreover,  —  we  shall  not  pronounce  with 
what  success,  —  to  bring  the  number  contained  in  one  of 
these  miles  within  the  range  of  our  conception  by  saying, 
that  "  to  count  them  would  require  80,000  persons,  and  a 
period  equal  to  the  interval  between  the  present  and  the 
creation."  Yet  it  must  be  recollected  that  this  was  only 
the  aggregate  of  life  in  one  of  the  20,000  square  miles, 
and  that  the  whole  scene  was  but  a  mere  fragment  of  the 
ocean.  Such  numbers  are  incomprehensible ;  but  even 
viewing  the  statement  as  metaphorical  it  conveys  a  lofty- 
idea  of  the  profusion  of  marine  life.  In  the  coral  polyp 
we  have  another  example  of  a  creature  whose  numbers 
equally  baffle  our  conception.  In  many  parts  of  the  ocean, 
islands  and  reefs  are  now  being  constructed  by  countless 
myriads  of  these  animals.  Off  the  east  coast  of  Australia 
there  is  a  single  coral  reef  a  thousand  miles  long,  and  vast 
tracts  of  the  Pacific  are  studded  with  islands  of  coral 
formation.  Placed  side  by  side  with  the  productions  of 
these  pigmy  laborers,  our  pyramids  and  breakwaters,  and 
the  most  stupendous  works  reared  by  man,  sink  into  utter 
insignificance. 

It  is  noteworthy  that  amidst  this  richness  of  life  the  sea, 
like  the  land,  has  its  deserts  —  "desolate  regions,"  as  they 
are  termed  by  mariners  —  in  which  few  signs  of  life  in  air 
or  water  are  to  be  seen.  In  many  maps  such  a  region  will 
be  found  laid  down  in  the  South  Pacific,  between  Patagonia 
and  New  Zealand.  Birds  that  have  followed  a  ship  for 
weeks  together  seem  to  recognize  this  blighted  ocean-des- 
ert, and  fall  away  as  soon  as  they  enter  it. 


Seas  and  Floods.  139 

The  blue  color  of  the  sea  is  one  of  its  chief  attractions, 
and,  as  the  intensity  is  greatest  where  the  saline  matters 
are  most  abundant,  there  would  appear  to  be  a  close  con- 
nection between  the  two  conditions.  Thus  the  water  of 
the  Gulf  Stream,  south  of  Newfoundland,  is  bluer  than  the 
fresher  water  beside  which  it  flows,  and  the  line  of  demar- 
cation between  them  is  so  sharp  as  to  be  easily  distin- 
guished. "  Off  the  coast  of  the  Carolinas,"  says  Maury, 
"  you  can  see  the  bows  of  the  vessel,  as  she  enters  the 
Gulf  Stream,  clashing  the  spray  from  those  warm  and  blue 
waters,  while  the  stern  is  still  in  the  sea-green  water  of  the 
Bank  of  Newfoundland."  The  "blue  Mediterranean"  has 
become  a  proverb,  and  the  fact  is  explained  by  the  circum- 
stance that  the  sun,  by  causing  enormous  evaporation, 
strengthens  the  brine  of  its  confined  waters  as  in  a  salt- 
pan. On  the  other  hand,  seas  that  contain  comparatively 
little  salt,  such  as  the  German  and  Arctic  Oceans,  are  of  a 
green  rather  than  a  blue  color.  By  this  easy  test  it  is  said 
that  manufacturers  of  salt  sometimes  judge  of  the  richness 
of  the  water. 

Navigators  tell  us  of  other  colors  which  the  sea  excep- 
tionally assumes.  Thus  there  is  a  Yellow  Sea,  called  so 
from  the  color  of  the  sand,  or  mud  ;  a.  White  Sea,  from  the 
weakness  of  the  saline  solution ;  and  a  Red  Sea,  from 
slimy  fuci  cast  up  from  the  bottom  of  its  bed.  Near  Terra 
del  Fuego  Darwin  observed  patches  of  a  brown-red  color, 
produced  by  prawn-like  crustaceans  floating  in  it.  The 
sailors  called  them  whale-food  ;  and  in  truth,  they  appeared 
to  be  just  the  sort  of  banquet  on  which  a  whale  would 
feast.  Near  the  Galapagos  Darwin  also  remarked  that  a 
film  of  floating  spawn  gave  a  dark  yellowish  or  mud-like 
color  to  the  sea  ;  on  another  occasion  the  ocean  was  cov- 
ered for  miles  with  a  coating  that  displayed  iridescent  col- 
ors. The  sailors,  who  are  often  shrewd  observers,  attrib- 
uted it  "  to  the  carcass  of  some  whale  floating  at  no  great 
distance."     A  patch  of  white  water,  twenty-three  miles  in 


140  Seas  and  Floods. 

extent,  was  observed  in  the  Indian  Ocean.     "  In  appear 
ance,"  says  Darwin,  "  it  was  like  a  plain  of  snow."     "  The 
scene  was  one  of  awful  grandeur ;  the  sea  being  turned  to 
phosphorus,  the  heavens  being  hung  in  blackness,  and  the 
stars  going  out." 

Phosphorescence  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  appear- 
ances presented  by  the  sea.  We  sometimes  fancy  it  to  be 
very  vivid  upon  our  own  coasts,  but  sailors  nevertheless 
assure  us  that  the  light  is  pale  in  comparison  to  the  bright- 
ness with  which  it  shines  in  tropical  regions.  There  are 
two  forms  in  which  it  appears.  In  one,  bright  isolated 
specks  are  seen  from  the  shining  of  star-fishes,  annelids, 
medusae,  and  various  kinds  of  Crustacea  and  mollusca. 
In  the  other,  there  is  a  diffused  luminosity,  often  flashing 
into  coruscations,  which  is  produced  by  a  profusion  of 
microscopic  animalcules.  The  phosphorescence  of  the 
Noctilucaa  is  sometimes  beautifully  seen  while  steaming 
along  our  coasts  at  night,  as  the  water  is  dashed  from  the 
bows  ;  but  it  is  also  very  conspicuous  when  a  glass  vessel, 
filled  with  water  containing  them,  is  placed  in  the  dark. 

These  creatures  occupy  one  of  the  humblest  positions 
in  the  animal  scale.  Yet,  though  they  look  like  mere 
specks  of  animated  jelly,  they  are  by  no  means  insensible 
to  rough  treatment,  under  which  they  shine  with  increasing 
light. 

If  all  the  salt  in  the  sea  were  collected  together  it  would 
cover  the  entire  surface  of  Europe  with  a  layer  one  mile 
in  thickness.  Whence  comes  this  saltness  of  the  sea,  and 
what  is  its  use  ?  The  first  point  is  doubtful.  The  earth,  it 
is  true,  contains  vast  stores  of  salt  hidden  away  among  its 
strata,  and  in  the  convulsions  through  which  it  has  passed 
the  salt  might  easily  have  been  washed  out  into  the  sea. 
But  on  the  other  hand,  the  beds  of  salt  found  in  the  earth 
show  unmistakably  that  they  themselves  have  been  depos- 
ited from  water.  Not  improbably  the  sea  was  created  salt, 
just  as  we    now  find  it ;  and,  from  its  almost  unvarying 


Seas  and  Floods.  141 

constitution  preserved  amid  causes  tending  to  disturb  the 
balance,  it  seems  to  retain  by  special  ordinance  the  exact 
amount  of  saltness  best  adapted  to  the  uses  it  has  to  ful- 
fill. At  first  sight  it  might  appear  as  if  this  saltness  would 
detract  from  its  utility,  for  there  are  few  purposes  to  which 
it  can  be  applied  in  comparison  with  those  for  which  fresh 
water  is  suitable.  But  a  little  reflection  will  show  us  that, 
while  there  has  been  no  stinting  in  our  supplies  of  fresh 
water,  the  additional  gift  of  salt  water  has  added  largely 
to  our  resources  by  properties  peculiar  to  itself.  It  is  thus 
fitted  to  be  the  habitation  of  countless  tribes  of  fishes  and 
other  creatures  which  afford  us  most  abundant  and  wel- 
come supplies  of  food,  and  brings  to  every  shore  the  means 
of  obtaining  salt,  which  is  an  essential  element  of  healthy 
nourishment. 

The  ocean  is  "ever  restless."  There  are  interstitial 
movements  between  the  drops  themselves  of  which  it  is 
composed,  and  there  is  a  grand  circulation  in  the  whole 
mass  of  water  to  which  the  term  current  is  usually  re- 
stricted. 

The  necessity  for  this  circulation  may  be  inferred  from 
the  care  which  Providence  has  taken  to  insure  its  efficient 
performance.  Within  the  tropics  the  fierce  sun  is  con- 
stantly skimming  the  surface  of  the  sea,  and  creating  a  void 
that  has  to  be  filled  up  by  the  surrounding  water.  Among 
the  most  powerful  agents  of  circulation  is  the  moon,  by 
whose  attraction  is  raised  the  wave  of  the  tide,  which, 
setting  out  from  one  extremity  of  the  ocean,  traverses  it 
unto  the  other.  The  willing  atmosphere,  seldom  standing 
idly  by  when  any  of  Hie  grand  operations  of  Nature  are 
going  forward,  takes  its  share  of  the  work,  and  by  its  trade- 
winds,  monsoons,  and  other  breezes  helps  on  the  good 
cause.  Sometimes  the  wind  churns  the  waves,  as  in  the 
storm  j  at  other  times  it  drives  them  before  it,  and  piles 
them  up  in  confined  bays,  such  as  the  Mexican  Gulf, 
whence  they  fall  down  as  a  current  across  the  neighboring 


142  Seas  and  Floods. 

sea,  and  thus  restore  the  equilibrium.  But  the  mainspring 
of  the  machinery  is  to  be  found  in  the  ocean  itself,  which, 
by  means  of  differences  in  its  weight,  or  specific  gravity, 
establishes  the  principal  currents.  In  equatorial  regions 
evaporation  thickens  the  brine,  and  makes  it  dense  and 
heavy.  In  the  Polar  Sea  evaporation  is  checked  by  the 
cold,  while  melting  snows  and  glaciers  pour  into  it  immense 
quantities  of  water  during  the  summer,  by  which  it  is  made 
fresh  and  light.  There  is  thus  at  one  end  of  the  mobile 
mass  a  dense  fluid,  and  at  the  other  end  a  light  one ;  and 
the  necessary  result  is  a  circulation  from  the  equator  to 
the  poles  to  displace  the  fresh  water,  and  a  counter-current 
from  the  poles  to  the  equator  to  fill  up  the  void  which  the 
dense  water  leaves  behind  it.  Distance  counts  for  nothing 
in  such  a  chain,  and  when  one  link  is  moved  all  the  other 
links  must  move  also.  By  this  means  a  thorough  circula- 
tion is  effected.  On  the  one  hand,  the  ocean  is  being 
continually  poured  into  the  polar  seas  ;  on  the  other,  it  is 
in  an  equal  ratio  emptied  back  into  the  regions  of  the 
tropics. 

The  proofs  of  this  "  greater  circulation  "  are  to  be  found 
in  many  places,  but  they  are  less  conspicuous  in  the 
southern  than  in  the  northern  hemisphere,  on  account  of 
there  being  comparatively  so  little  land  between  the  tropics 
and  the  antarctic  regions.  The  polar  and  equatorial 
streams  are  consequently  more  diffused  than  in  the  north- 
ern hemisphere,  and  their  force,  with  few  exceptions,  is  not 
so  great.  Toward  the  north,  on  the  contrary,  the  chan- 
nels of  communication  between  the  equatorial  and  polar 
seas  are  narrower,  and  the  currents,  therefore,  are  more 
distinctly  marked.  It  is  just  the  difference  between  a  river 
whose  strength  is  wasted  by  the  width  of  its  bed,  and  one 
whose  waters  being  confined  within  a  narrow  channel  rush 
impetuously  along. 

The  surface  of  the  ocean  is  thus  mapped  out  intD  cur- 
rents by  the  constancy  of  which  the  navigator  profits.    But 


Seas  and  Floods.  143 

besides  these  stronger  streams  there  are  others  whose  force 
is  so  gentle  and  diffused  that  their  existence  cannot  be 
detected  by  the  reckoning,  and  is  only  made  known  by  the 
thermometer.  In  pursuing  an  eastward  or  westward  course 
across  the  ocean,  an  alteration  in  the  temperature  tells 
where  the  water  comes  from.  Thus,  if  the  temperature 
increase,  it  may  be  inferred  that  there  is  a  flow  from  the 
south  ;  and  if  the  water  get  colder,  a  northern  origin  is 
equally  indicated. 

The  Gulf  Stream  is  the  most  famous  of  all  the  currents 
that  flow  toward  the  north,  and  is  in  itself  one  of  the 
most  wonderful  physical  phenomena  in  the  world.  Its 
great  historian,  Maury,  thus  eloquently  describes  it :  — 
"  There  is  a  river  in  the  ocean.  In  the  severest  droughts 
it  never  fails,  and  in  the  mightiest  floods  it  never  over- 
flows. Its  banks  and  its  bottom  are  of  cold  water,  while 
its  current  is  of  warm.  The  Gulf  of  Mexico  is  its  fountain, 
while  its  mouth  is  in  the  arctic  seas.  It  is  the  Gulf  Stream. 
There  is  in  the  world  no  other  such  majestic  flow  of  waters. 
Its  current  is  more  rapid  than  the  Mississippi  or  Amazon, 
and  its  volume  more  than  a  thousand  times  greater." 
Rushing  past  the  point  of  Florida,  it  starts  on  its  path 
across  the  Atlantic  as  a  compact  river  sixty  miles  broad 
and  three  thousand  feet  deep,  and  at  a  pace  of  four  or  five 
miles  an  hour.  Onward  it  streams  in  a  northeasterly  direc- 
tion, spreading  out  its  waters  like  a  fan,  until  it  approaches 
the  Cornwall  coast,  the  west  of  Ireland,  and  the  Hebrides 
of  Scotland.  The  great  bulk  of  the  still  warm  waters  flows 
onward  between  the  Shetlands  and  Iceland  ;  and  then, 
after  laving  the  northern  shores  of  Norway,  the  current 
is  gradually  lost  in  the  Spitzbergen  seas.  Whether  the 
waters  of  the  Gulf  Stream,  still  recognizable  by  their  tem- 
perature, are  destined  to  be  rediscovered  as  an  open,  com- 
paratively mild  sea  under  the  pole,  surrounded  by  arctic 
deserts  that  lie  outside  the  influence  of  this  offshoot  from 
the  Sunny  South,  is  a  problem  which  the  next  few  years 
will  probably  resolve. 


1 44 


Seas  and  Floods. 


Side  by  side  with  this  warm  northward-moving  flood 
there  is  a  great  polar  stream  bearing  down  in  an  opposite 
direction,  which  appears  to  be  more  especially  its  com- 
pensatory current.  It  rises  in  the  distant  recesses  of 
Baffin's  Bay  and  the  Greenland  Sea,  and  then,  studded 
with  icebergs,  sweeps  along  the  Coast  of  Labrador,  encir- 
cling the  island  of  ^Newfoundland  in  its  chill  embrace.  To 
the  south  of  the  Bank  it  encounters  the  Gulf  Stream  run- 
ning northeastward  ;  —  the  paths  of  the  two  giants  cross 
each  other,  and  they  struggle  for  the  right  of  way.  Their 
hostile  waters  refuse  to  mingle,  and  each  continues  to 
retain  its  color  and  its  temperature.  But,  though  neither 
is  vanquished,  each  leaves  its  mark  upon  the  other.  From 
the  force  of  the  shock  the  Gulf  Stream  for  a  moment 
falters  in  its  course,  and  is  deflected  toward  the  south  ; 
while  the  polar  current,  unable  to  break  through  the  con- 
centrated mass  by  which  it  is  opposed,  dives  under  the 
bed  of  the  mighty  stream,  and  hastens  on  toward  the 
tropics. 

The  higher  latitudes  of  the  Southern  Ocean  are  even 
more  numerously  studded  with  drifting  icebergs  than  the 
northern,  from  which,  were  other  proofs  wanting,  we  might 
safely  infer  the  existence  of  currents  analogous  to  those 
just  described.  The  superficial  polar  currents  are  some- 
times very  baffling  to  navigators  desirous  of  penetrating 
into  high  latitudes.  One  of  them  was  carried  —  ship  and 
all  —  a  distance  of  1200  miles  upon  the  ice,  as  it  drifted 
down  the  centre  of  Baffin's  Bay.  Captain  Parry,  too,  found 
all  his  efforts  to  penetrate  toward  the  pole  counteracted 
by  the  circumstance  that  the  distance  traveled  in  sledges 
during  the  day  was  only  equal  to  the  southern  drift  of  the 
whole  mass  of  the  ice  during  the  night.  Under  this  super- 
ficial polar  current  there  is  in  some  places,  perhaps  in  all, 
a  deeper  current  running  in  the  opposite  direction.  Thus 
it  has  occasionally  happened  in  Baffin's  Bay,  that  while 
ships  in  calm  weather  have  been  drifting  to  the  south  on 


Seas  and  Floods.  145 

the  superficial  stream,  large  icebergs,  whose  bases  mi&t 
have  sunk  deep  into  the  lower  current,  have  been  observed 
to  move  in  the  opposite  direction. 

These  currents  of  the  sea  aid  commerce,  distribute  seeds 
over  widely  distant  regions,  and  sometimes  afford  abundant 
supplies  of  timber  to  countries  destitute  of  forests.  In  this 
way  the  Icelanders  are  furnished  from  the  woods  bordering 
the  rivers  in  Siberia.  In  high  latitudes  it  is  obviously  im- 
portant that  the  sea  should  remain  free  from  ice  as  long 
as  possible,  both  for  the  sake  of  commerce  and  because 
the  Esquimaux  find  in  it  their  chief  stores  of  food.  The 
saltness  of  the  ocean  helps  to  keep  it  open  ;  for  while  fresh 
water  freezes  at  3.2  degrees,  salt  water  remains  fluid  down 
to  a  temperature  of  about  28  degrees.  But  the  polar  seas, 
from  the  rains  and  melting  of  the  ice,  combined  with  the 
small  evaporation  going  on  in  them,  tend  to  become  less 
salt ;  while,  at  the  tropics,  from  the  great  loss  of  water  by 
evaporation,  the  saltness  tends  to  increase.  The  equatorial 
current,  therefore,  assists  in  keeping  the  Arctic  Sea  open  by 
bringing  to  it  supplies  of  stronger  brine  from  the  South. 

By  means  of  the  great  currents  of  the  ocean  another  ex- 
tremely important  function  is  performed.  One  of  the  chief 
cosmical  problems  which  Nature  had  to  solve  was  how,  on 
the  one  hand,  to  warm  the  North,  and  on  the  other  to  cool 
the  South,  to  the  degree  best  adapted  for  the  development 
of  life.  For  the  regulation  of  the  heat  account  between 
them  Nature  has  employed  the  most  powerful  machinery 
that  exists  on  the  earth.  We  have  already  seen  how  heat, 
packed  up  in  the  vapor  arising  from  southern  seas,  is  borne 
along  by  the  atmosphere  to  regions  where  it  is  wanted  ; 
and  we  now  perceive  that  this  machinery  —  vast  as  it  is  — 
requires  to  be  supplemented  by  the  heat  conveyed  toward 
the  poles  in  the  currents  of  the  ocean.  The  means  are 
marvelously  great,  yet  not  out  of  proportion  to  the  magni- 
tude of  the  work  to  be  done.  Pouillet  and  Herschel  have 
estimated  the  daily  amount  of  heat  received  by  the  earth 

10 


146  Seas  and  Floods. 

from  the  sun  as  sufficient  to  raise  the  temperature  of  7513 
cubic  miles  of  water  from  the  freezing  up  to  the  boiling 
point,  and  of  this  heat  equatorial  regions  receive  a  pro- 
portion which  would  be  incompatible  with  life  did  not  some 
contrivance  exist  for  carrying  off  the  excess.  Owing  to  the 
preponderance  of  sea  between  the  tropics,  the  ocean  of 
course  receives  the  largest  share  of  this  heat.  It  has  a 
mean  temperature  of  about  8o°  ;  while  in  the  Caribbean 
Sea  and  in  some  other  places  the  temperature  rises  nearly 
to  blood-heat.  Were  the  water  not  renewed  in  the  Mexi- 
can Gulf,  it  would  soon  become  destructive  to  life.  To 
prevent  this,  Nature  establishes  currents  by  which  some  of 
the  hot  water  is  continually  drawn  off  from  the  caldron, 
and  an  equal  portion  of  cold  water  is  continually  let  in. 
The  operation  may  be  compared  to  a  kitchen  boiler  fed 
with  cold  water  through  one  pipe,  and  from  which  a  pro- 
portionate quantity  of  hot  water  escapes  through  another. 
The  "  main  "  that  issues  from  this  tap  is  the  Gulf  Stream, 
and,  in  order  to  form  some  idea  of  the  service  it  renders, 
let  us  consider  the  amount  of  heat  it  carries  along.  As  it 
leaves  the  caldron  there  is  a  mass  of  water,  60  miles  broad 
by  3000  feet  deep,  with  a  maximum  temperature  of  86°  ; 
and  before  it  is  lost  in  the  Polar  Sea  its  temperature  has 
fallen  to  nearly  320.  All  the  heat  implied  in  this  difference 
has  been  distributed  by  the  way,  and  has  been  spent  in 
improving  the  climate  of  the  regions  through  which  it 
passed.  Maury  calculates  that  the  heat  discharged  over 
the  Atlantic  by  the  waters  of  the  Gulf  Stream  in  a  winter's 
day  would  be  sufficient  to  raise  the  whole  atmosphere 
covering  France  and  the  British  Islands  from  the  freezing 
point  up  to  summer  heat ;  and  in  another  place  he  says  that 
it  would  be  sufficient  to  keep  in  flow  a  molten  stream  of 
iron  greater  in  volume  than  the  Mississippi.  There  is  "a. 
Providence  "  even  in  the  refusal  of  the  giant  streams  to 
unite  together  off  the  coast  of  Newfoundland.  By  tnis 
designed  separation  "  the  heat  and  the  cold  "  are  carried 


Seas  and  Floods.  147 

better  and  further,  and  the  object  of  the  distribution  is 
more  perfectly  attained.     It  is  indeed  remarkable  how  well 
heat  and  cold  are  thus  conveyed.     The  cold  polar  current 
which  we  lost  to  the  south  of  the  Bank  of  Newfoundland, 
where  it  dipped  under  the  bed  of  the  Gulf  Stream,  could 
still  be  reached  by  deep  soundings,  and  recognized  by  its 
temperature  of  350,  while  the  "  river  "  flowing  above  it  was 
8o°.     And  by  the  same  means  it  is  again  to  be  recognized 
among  the  West  India  Islands,  with  the  cold  label  of  its 
origin  still  attached  to  it.     In  those  seas  the  temperature 
of  the  surface  water  may  be  85 °,  while  that  of  the  deep 
water  is  43 °,  or  only  n°  above  the  freezing  point.     There 
is  another  evidence  of  design  about  this  wonderful  stream 
which  must  not  be  passed  over.     Maury  says,  "  Its  banks 
and  its  bottom  are  of  cold  water  ;  "  and,  indeed,  this  was 
essential,    in   order   to   make   it   a   good   hot-water   pipe. 
Earth  and  rocks  are  better  conductors  of  heat  •  and,  con- 
sequently, if  the  banks  and  bottom  had  been  constructed, 
as  they  usually  are,  of  these  materials,  the  Gulf  Stream 
would  have  held  its  heat  with  a  less  tenacious  grasp,  and 
could  not  have  carried  it,  as  it  now  does,  3000  miles  across 
the  ocean  to  improve  the  climate  of  cold  latitudes.     At 
Newfoundland  in  winter-time  the  thermometer  is  often  at 
zero,  while  within  a  good  day's  sail  to  the  south  may  be 
enjoyed  the  genial  climate  of  the  Gulf  Stream.     Its  in- 
fluence  in  warming  the  winters  of  the  British  islands  is 
shown  by  a  comparison  between  their  thermometric  regis- 
ter and  that  of  places  situated  on  the  same  parallel  of  lati- 
tude on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic.     When  it  reaches 
Hammerfest,  near  the  northern  extremity  of  Norway,  and 
considerably  within  the  arctic  circle,  its  influence  suffices 
to  keep  the  harbor  open  in  the  severest  seasons.     It  is 
even  asserted  that,  in  the  ocean  near  Spitzbergen,  water  is 
occasionally  to   be   met  with   in   the   track  of  the    Gulf 
Stream  which  is  only  one  degree  colder  than  it  is  in  the 
depths  of  the  Caribbean  Sea. 


143  Seas  and  Floods. 

From  this  general  outline  some  idea  may  be  formed  of 
the  way  in  which  God  has  made  the  ocean  currents  co- 
operate with  other  causes  in  equalizing  temperature  over 
the  globe.  By  their  means  the  heat  which  would  other- 
wise accumulate  at  the  tropics  is  carried  toward  the  poles ; 
while  the  cold  which  would  oppress  the  polar  regions  is, 
if  we  may  so  express  it,  carried  toward  the  equator.  By 
this  beautiful  provision  the  climates  of  the  world  are  im- 
proved ;  the  bleak  North  is  made  less  bleak  than  it  other- 
wise would  be,  and  the  temperature  of  the  over-heated 
South  is  kept  within  due  bounds.  In  these  islands,  more 
especially,  we  have  reason  to  bless  God  for  the  beneficence 
of  an  arrangement  which  softens  the  rigor  of  our  climate, 
and  gives  to  some  parts  of  the  kingdom  a  winter  season 
which  in  temperature  may  compete  with  many  in  the  south 
of  Europe.  Nor  can  any  one  who  considers  the  vastness 
of  these  operations  fail  to  perceive  how  much  the  Crea- 
tor is  praised  and  magnified  both  by  the  simplicity  of  the 
means  employed,  and  the  perfection  with  which  the  end 
is  accomplished. 

The  great  currents  we  have  been  considering  form  the 
main  arteries  and  veins  of  the  ocean  ;  but  there  is  also  a 
constant  interstitial  movement  and  mixing  going  on  among 
the  particles  themselves,  which  might  by  comparison  be 
termed  its  capillary  circulation.  The  dynamic  force  is 
derived  from  local  changes  in  temperature  or  in  the  degree 
of  saltness.  Every  beam  of  sunshine  that  falls  upon  the 
sea,  by  altering  the  specific  gravity  of  the  portion  on  which 
it  falls,  sets  a  current  in  motion  to  reestablish  the  equilib- 
rium. In  like  manner  every  kind  of  fish,  and  more 
especially  every  kind  of  shell-building  creature  that  lives 
there,  as  soon  as  it  has  absorbed  a  particle  of  lime,  silica, 
or  other  matter,  alters  the  specific  gravity  of  the  atom  of 
water  whence  the  matter  was  extracted,  and  creates  a 
minute  current  of  denser  water  to  restore  the  equilibrium. 
Plants  which,  like  corallines,  absorb  lime  act  in  the  same 


Seas  a7id  Floods.      +  149 

way.  The  amount  of  each  operation  is  infinitesimal,  but 
the  grand  result  is  that  a  capillary  circulation  of  minute 
currents  is  everywhere  going  on,  by  which  the  salubrity  of 
the  general  mass  of  the  ocean  is  maintained.  How  won- 
derful the  simplicity  of  the  means  by  which  all  this  is  ac- 
complished. A  grain  more  or  a  grain  less  of  common  salt 
contributes  its  share  in  keeping  the  ocean  in  healthy  move- 
ment !  Nor  is  it  to  be  forgotten  that  the  inhabitants  of 
the  sea,  by  withdrawing  lime  and  silica,  prevent  these  sub- 
stances from  unduly  accumulating  in  its  waters.  For  as 
all  the  rivers  that  fall  into  the  sea  are  continually  bringing 
saline  matters  into  it,  these  would  soon  exist  in  hurtful 
excess  if  no  arrangement  had  been  made  for  their  removal. 
There  are  some  inland  seas  of  the  highest  value  to  man- 
kind, which  would  ere  this  have  degenerated  by  evapora- 
tion into  pestilential  swamps,  had  not  the  Great  Architect 
insured  their  safety  by  establishing  permanent  currents  of 
supply  which  flow  into  them  from  the  ocean.  The  Medi- 
terranean —  one  of  the  greatest  water-highways  of  the 
world  —  may  be  cited  as  the  most  remarkable  example. 
It  is  computed  that  the  evaporation  going  on  from  its  sur- 
face skims  off  no  less  than  three  times  as  much  water  as  it 
receives  from  all  its  tributaries  taken  together,  and  it  would, 
therefore,  be  inevitably  dried  up  were  it  not  fed  with  a  cor- 
responding equivalent  of  water  from  the  Atlantic.  Yet 
even  this  arrangement  would  not  of  itself  suffice  to  obviate 
the  threatened  danger.  It  is  evident  that  excessive  evapo- 
ration, besides  lowering  the  level  of  the  surface,  would  also 
have  the  effect  of  concentrating  the  brine  ;  and  this  would 
go  on  until,  the  point  of  saturation  having  been  reached, 
layer  after  layer  of  salt  would  be  precipitated  to  the  bot- 
tom so  as  ultimately  to  fill  up  the  entire  bed.  The  purpose 
of  the  current  from  the  Atlantic  is  to  provide  for  the  waste 
by  evaporation,  but  being  itself  salt  it  does  not  tend  mate- 
rially to  dilute  the  brine  that  remains.  A  sure  remedy 
however,  is  found  in  that  law  which  governs  the  universe  — 


150  Seas  and  Floods. 

gravitation  —  and  thus  the  saltness  which  caused  the 
danger,  brings  also  with  it  the  means  of  safety.  For  as 
the  deep  water  in  the  Mediterranean  increases  in  saltness, 
it  becomes  heavier  than  the  less  salt  water  of  the  adjoining 
Atlantic,  and  consequently  acquires  a  tendency  to  fall  in 
upon  and  displace  it,  just  as  a  portion  of  heavy  air  dis- 
places a  contiguous  portion  that  is  light.  In  this  way  a 
counter-current  is  established  at  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar. 
The  superficial  current  runs  in  from  the  Atlantic  to  main- 
tain the  level  of  the  sea  that  has  been  lowered  by  excessive 
evaporation ;  and  the  deep  current  runs  out  from  the  Med- 
iterranean to  carry  off  that  excess  of  salt  which,  if  retained, 
would  in  the  end  convert  its  bed  into  an  unhealthy  swamp. 

The  Red  Sea  would  have  been  even  in  a  worse  plight 
but  for  a  similar  arrangement.  The  sun  beats  so  hotly 
upon  it  that  its  waters  are  often  raised  to  a  temperature  of 
900  ;  consequently,  the  evaporation  is  excessive.  On  the 
other  hand,  throughout  its  whole  length  of  about  1200 
miles  not  a  single  stream  that  can  be  called  a  river  falls 
into  it.  But  all  is  adjusted,  and  safety  is  secured  by  the 
existence  of  a  double  current  at  the  Straits  of  Bab-el-Man- 
deb.  That  which  is  superficial  brings  an  abundant  supply 
of  water  from  the  Indian  Ocean  y  that  which  is  deep  carries 
off  the  excess  of  salt  from  the  Red  Sea. 

Another  well-known  sea  —  the  Baltic  —  is  in  danger  of 
losing  its  healthy  amount  of  saltness  from  causes  the  re- 
verse of  those  just  mentioned  ;  for  while  many  rivers  bring 
to  it  supplies  of  fresh  water,  it  lies  so  far  to  the  north  that 
comparatively  little  is  dissipated  by  evaporation.  The 
brine  is  thus  in  danger  of  being  over-diluted.  The  remedy, 
however,  is  found  in  a  double  current.  By  the  superficial 
current,  some  of  the  brackish  water  is  decanted  off  into 
the  North  Sea ;  by  the  deep,  a  supply  of  salt  is  brought 
from  the  North  Sea  into  the  Baltic. 

The  tidal  floods  which  add  so  much  to  the  interest  of 
our  sea-side  strolls  are  also  of  the  highest  utility.    Though 


Seas  and  Floods.  i  s  i 

little  else  than  mere  undulations  without  movement  in  the 
open  sea  —  like  those  we  admire  in  fields  of  "  wavy  corn" 
when  agitated  by  the  wind  —  tides  are  strong  currents  in 
the  narrow  seas  and  the  rivers  where  they  ebb  and  flow. 
Tides,  therefore,  facilitate  commerce  ;   and  from  their  un- 
deviating  regularity  enter  as  a  certain  element  into  the 
sailor's  calculations.     The  wave  of  water  thus  sent  up  a 
river  deepens  its  channel,  and  gives  to  many  an  inland 
town  the  advantages  of  a  sea  position.     But  for  the  tide, 
the  miles  of  wharves  which  border  the  Thames  at  London 
would  never  have  existed  \  and  it  is  not  too  much  to  say 
that  to  its  tide  the  metropolis  owes  its  rank  as  the  foremost 
commercial  city  in  the  world.     At  high  water  the  channel 
at  London  Bridge  is  deepened  to  about  18  feet;   while 
Bristol  and  Glasgow  are  even  more  dependent  upon  the 
tide   than  London.     The  Avon,   at  St.  Vincent's   Rocks, 
when  the  tide  is  at  the  lowest,  would  hardly  swim  a  boat ; 
but  after  it  has  received  its  forty  feet  flood  it  could  float  a 
man-of-war.     At  Glasgow  there   are  persons    living  who 
recollect  when  the  river  could  be  waded  across   at  low 
water.      The   height   of  tides  varies  extremely.      Where 
there  is  nothing  to  confine  them,  as  in  the  open  ocean, 
they  seldom  rise  above  two  or  three  feet ;  and  the  same 
effect  happens  if  the  direction  of  an  inland  sea  lies  out  of 
the  course  of  their  flow,  as  in  the  Mediterranean.     On  the 
other  hand,  where  a  gradual  contracting  estuary,  like  the 
Bristol  Channel,  opens  fairly  to  the  flood,  it  sweeps  in  from 
the  ocean  with  full  volume,  and  being  hemmed  in  more 
and   more  between  converging  shores   it   mounts  higher 
and  higher  as  it  advances.     Thus  at  Chepstow  the  tide 
occasionally  attains  an  elevation  of  50  feet.     Still  more 
extraordinary  is  the  tide  in  the  Bay  of  Fundy,  on  the  east 
coast  of  New  Brunswick,  where  a  wave  one  hundred  feet 
high  is  sometimes  piled  up  by  the  flowing  flood.    This  wall 
of  water  advances  at  such  a  pace  that  it  often  overtakes 
deer,  swine,  and  other  beasts  feeding  or  rambling  about 


152  Seas  and  Floods, 

the  shore,  and  swallows  them  up.  The  swine,  as  they  feed 
on  the  mussels  at  low  water,  are  said  to  smell,  or  perhaps 
to  hear,  the  "  bore  "  while  it  is  yet  distant,  and  sometimes 
dash  off  at  the  top  of  their  speed  to  the  cliffs  to  avoid  the 
coming  danger. 

There  is  something  mysteriously  melancholy  in  the  first 
glance  which  the  voyager  unaccustomed  to  ocean  life  takes 
from  the  deck  of  his  ship  when  it  has  borne  him  fairly 
"out  of  sight  of  land."  With  nothing  visible  around  but 
sea  and  sky,  he  sees  his  ship  a  mere  speck  upon  a  track- 
less waste.  Yet  there  is  no  hesitation  among  those  who 
guide  the  noble  bark  which  forges  onward  to  its  destined 
port.  The  "  pathless  "  ocean  is  in  fact  a  mere  figure  of 
speech,  for  its  highways  and  by-ways  have  been  surveyed 
and  accurately  mapped.  On  deck  is  to  be  seen  the 
trusty  compass,  pointing  out  the  course,  like  an  attendant 
monitor,  with  a  finger  that  never  tires.  Above,  there  are 
the  sun,  the  moon,  or  the  stars  —  beacons  fixed  high  in 
the  heavens  —  sign-posts  that  never  deceive  the  mariner 
who  has  skill  to  read  their  writing.  The  accuracy  of 
modern  navigation  is  truly  miraculous.  Ships  start  on  a 
voyage  of  15,000  miles,  say,  from  New  York  to  California, 
during  which  they  may  not  once  see  land,  yet  they  strike 
the  sought-for  harbor  as  if  the  goal  had  been  always  before 
their  eyes.  The  late  Captain  Basil  Hall  once  sailed  from 
San  Bias,  on  the  Mexican  coast,  round  Cape  Horn  to  Rio 
Janeiro.  He  was  at  sea  three  months,  during  which  he 
saw  neither  land  nor  sail,  yet  he  struck  the  harbor's  mouth 
so  exactly  that  he  scarcely  required  to  alter  his  course  by 
a  single  point  in  order  to  enter  it.  Had  God  not  provided 
for  accurate  navigation  by  means  of  astronomical  signs, 
and  had  He  not  designedly  endowed  man  with  special 
faculties  capable  of  understanding  their  import,  commerce 
as  it  is  now  developed  could  never  have  existed  ;  and 
there  is  not  a  nation  on  the  earth  which  would  not  thereby 
have  lost  many  of  the  comforts  and  blessings  now  brought 


Seas  and  Floods.  153 

to  it.  Through  His  beneficence  the  "  pathless  ocean  "  has 
become  the  world's  greatest  highway  ;  and,  instead  of  sepa- 
rating nations,  it  joins  them  together.  It  is  easier  now  to 
reach  the  remotest  corner  of  the  globe  by  sea,  than  it  is  to 
penetrate  into  Siberia  or  Arabia,  though  these  countries 
lie  comparatively  close  at  hand. 

The  sea  is  slightingly  called  the  "  unstable  element," 
but  in  the  permanence  of  its  condition  it  is  much  more 
stable  than  terra  firma.  The  land  is  in  some  places  being 
heaved  upward,  in  others  it  is  sinking  downward  ;  but  the 
level  of  the  ocean  never  changes.  Sometimes  the  sea  is 
hastily  identified  with  "  treachery,"  but  its  currents  are 
more  trustworthy  than  the  winds  on  land.  True  it  is  that, 
in  obedience  to  the  law  of  gravity,  a  ship  sometimes  sinks 
and  a  gallant  crew  perishes.  But  upon  the  upholding  of 
this  very  law  of  gravity  every  other  life  in  the  world 
depends,  and  its  suspension  even  for  an  instant  would  in- 
volve universal  destruction.  The  sea  sometimes  bursts 
its  bounds  and  desolates  the  dry  land,  or  sweeps  the  use- 
ful pier  into  the  deep,  or  destroys  the  light-house  ;  but  God 
has  given  us  faculties  and  provided  us  with  means  to  grap- 
ple with  all  these  evils,  and  control  even  the  ocean  itself. 
Man's  industry  and  skill  again  shut  out  the  sea  with 
stronger  dykes,  he  builds  a  better  pier,  rears  another  light- 
house round  which  winds  and  waves  dash  in  vain,  and  he 
plants  the  solid  breakwater  athwart  the  deep  to  create  the 
safe  harbor  within.  Thus  some  of  man's  greatest  victories 
are  won  in  his  battles  with  the  sea.  Modern  skill  in  build- 
ing and  in  navigating  ships  has  reduced  the  dangers  of  the 
sea  at  least  to  a  level  with  those  of  the  land,  and  has  in 
most  cases  made  ocean  disaster  synonymous  with  igno- 
rance or  want  of  care. 

The  great  rivers  of  the  earth  are  preeminently  its  Floods, 
and  the  harmony  with  which  rivers  and  ocean  are  regulated 
in  relation  to  each  other  is  another  marvel  of  creative  ad- 
justment.    "  All   the  rivers  run  into  the  sea,"  saith  the 


154  Seas  and  Floods. 

Preacher,  "yet  the  sea  is  not  full."  Great  as  are  the 
volumes  of  water  poured  into  it  by  rivers  like  the  Missis- 
sippi, the  Amazon,  the  Nile,  the  Ganges,  the  Yang-tse- 
Kiang,  as  well  as  by  every  stream  and  rivulet  throughout 
the  world,  the  ocean  knows  no  change,  but  preserves  its 
level  with  a  constancy  which  geologically  distinguishes  it 
from  the  land.  The  supplies  of  water  poured  into  it  from 
every  source  have  been  measured  by  the  Creator  with  a 
nicety  which  satisfies  all  wants  but  leaves  no  surplus. 
With  the  same  exactness  the  rivers  throughout  the  world 
are  fed  with  a  uniform  supply.  In  certain  years,  or  at 
certain  seasons  of  the  year,  the  level  of  their  channels  may 
vary ;  but,  notwithstanding  climatic  disturbances,  the 
freaks  of  the  rainfall,  the  dry  and  wet  years,  the  irregular 
melting  of  the  snows,  and  other  causes,  the  great  rivers 
show  no  sign  of  change  in  the  amount  of  their  annual 
tribute  to  the  ocean.  The  streams  that  feed  them  may 
change ;  they  may  dry  up  at  one  season  or  be  swollen  into 
torrents  at  another ;  but  ultimately  an  average  balance  is 
struck,  and  thus  the  mightiest  rivers,  like  the  Amazon, 
take  little  note  of  such  disturbances.  The  Nile  at  first 
sight  seems  an  exception  to  this  rule,  but  the  exception  is 
apparent  rather  than  real ;  for  the  Nile,  when  the  mean 
between  its  lowest  and  highest  state  is  taken  into  account, 
probably  varies  as  little  in  its  yearly  average  as  other 
rivers.  Thus  may  it  be  seen  how  that  most  gigantic  and 
wronderful  of  all  hydraulic  machines  —  the  atmosphere  — 
does  its  work  to  perfection.  By  evaporation  it  yearly  lifts 
up  from  the  ocean  the  quantity  of  water  that  is  needed  by 
the  land  ;  and  it  pours  into  the  channels  of  the  rivers  a 
supply  which  from  year  to  year  scarcely  knows  variation. 

The  great  inland  seas  of  the  globe  present  to  us  features 
which  illustrate  even  more  strikingly  the  power  and  wis- 
dom of  God.  Look  at  the  Caspian,  and  the  Sea  of  Aral 
in  Central  Asia,  or  at  the  Great  Salt  Lake  of  North 
America.     Each  of  them  receives  the  drainage  of  a  large 


Seas  and  Floods.  155 

district,  and  yet  there  is  no  outgoing  stream  to  carry  off  the 
water.  If  we  were  to  continue  pouring  water  into  a  basin 
we  know  what  would  happen ;  —  the  basin  would  be  filled 
to  the  brim,  and  would  then  overflow.  And  in  like  man- 
ner the  water  in  these  inland  seas  would  overflow  and  dev- 
astate the  country  had  not  a  safety-valve  been  provided  in 
evaporation.  But  again,  the  evaporation  might  have  been 
too  little  or  too  much.  It  might  not  have  been  suffi- 
cient to  correct  this  tendency  to  overflow ;  or  it  might 
have  been  excessive,  so  as  ultimately  to  have  sucked  the 
sea  dry,  and  left  its  bed  an  arid,  salt-encrusted  desert. 
But  no  such  blunders  are  to  be  found  in  Nature's  opera- 
tions. The  waste  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  supply  on 
the  other,  are  so  exactly  adjusted  as  to  equalize  each 
other,  and  thus  the  level  of  those  inland  seas  is  for  the 
most  part  preserved.  In  some  districts  of  Asia,  however, 
are  to  be  seen  what  may  be  called  the  ruins  of  ancient 
seas,  which,  in  the  all-wise  plans  of  Providence,  were  not 
intended  to  endure.  In  them  the  moisture  was  in  the 
course  of  years  dissipated  by  evaporation  ;  the  brackish 
water  thickened  into  brine,  and  the  brine  solidified  into 
salt-encrustations  which  mark  the  site  of  the  old  bed. 

Another  evidence  of  providential  design  is  seen  in  those 
lakes  which  so  frequently  spread  themselves  out  near  the 
chief  sources  of  rivers.  In  the  language  of  physiology 
they  might  justly  be  called  "  diverticula,"  since  they  are 
reservoirs  in  which  water  that  is  in  excess  is  stored  up 
until  it  is  wanted.  If  there  were  no  provision  of  this  kind 
inundations  from  the  rapid  rise  of  torrents  during  heavy 
rains  would  occur  more  frequently,  but  by  the  aid  of  these 
natural  reservoirs  the  storm  passes  over  in  safety.  A  great 
portion  of  the  rain,  instead  of  running  off  at  once  in  vio- 
lent floods,  accumulates  in  the  lake,  whence  it  is  given  out 
gradually  and  profitably,  and  thus  often  suffices  to  keep 
up  a  flow  of  water  when  drought  might  otherwise  have 
left  the  river  dry. 


156  Seas  and  Floods. 

Rains,  rills,  and  rivers  alike  rasp  off  the  surface  of  the 
globe  as  they  pass  over  it  or  through  it.  The  rubbings  of 
the  rocks  go  to  increase  the  store  of  fertile  soil.  As  earth 
or  mud  they  are  washed  along  by  the  current,  and  de- 
posited over  the  slopes  and  plains.  Sometimes,  from 
peculiar  causes,  inundations  periodically  occur,  as  with  the 
Nile  in  Egypt,  whereby,  after  subsidence,  a  rich  coating  of 
fertile  soil  is  found  deposited  over  the  surface  of  the  land. 
Most  great  rivers  transport  to  the  sea  enormous  quantities 
of  earthy  matters  and  gravel,  which  in  the  course  of  ages 
form  round  their  mouths  a  "  delta,"  or  projecting  tongue 
of  rich  alluvial  soil.  Besides  these  more  bulky  matters, 
rivers  bring  down  into  the  sea  supplies  both  of  lime  and 
silica,  which  they  have  dissolved  out  of  the  soil  or  the  rock. 
With  such  materials  of  ocean  architecture  myriads  of 
fishes,  mollusks,  polyps,  and  other  creatures  obtain  all 
they  require  for  the  growth  of  their  skeletons,  the  building 
of  their  houses,  and  the  construction  of  those  mighty  reefs 
of  coral  which  are  slowly  rising  like  new  continents  from 
the  deep. 

In  Holy  Scripture  we  are  not  less  struck  with  the  beauty 
than  with  the  exactness  of  expression  in  which  some  of 
the  leading  points  connected  with  the  water-system  of  the 
globe  have  been  described.  In  Ecclesiastes  the  sea  is  rec- 
ognized both  as  the  beginning  and  the  ending  of  all  the 
rivers  of  the  earth,  —  "  Unto  the  place  from  whence  the 
rivers  come,  thither  they  return  again."  Nothing  could 
more  truly  express  the  fact.  The  ocean-vapor  which  has 
been  the  sport  of  winds  and  currents  in  the  atmosphere 
knows  its  true  home ;  for  no  sooner  does  it  touch  the  earth 
as  rain  than,  with  a  seeming  instinct  and  a  movement  that 
knows  no  rest,  it  hurries  down  the  mountain  side  and 
across  the  plain,  or  trickles  through  the  mysterious  by- 
paths of  the  rocks  until,  collected  into  brook  or  river,  it 
plunges  once  more  into  its  parent  ocean. 

With  the  exception  of  the  rain  that  has  fallen  directly 


Seas  and  Floods.  157 

into  the  sea,  every  drop  of  returning  water  has  gone  a 
long  round  since  it  issued  from  the  deep,  and  by  God's 
goodness  it  has  scattered  blessings  all  the  way.  Water 
truly  is  a  blessing  to  us  in  every  form  of  its  existence.  It 
is  a  blessing  in  the  ocean,  where  it  diffuses  life  and  the 
means  of  living  to  myriads ;  as  vapor,  cooling  and  re- 
freshing the  air  at  one  time,  warming  and  moderating  the 
rigors  of  climate  at  another  ;  as  cloud,  shielding  the  earth 
from  sun,  checking  excessive  radiation,  and  tempering 
electric  influences  ;  as  rain,  clearing  the  air  from  impur- 
ity and  reviving  the  thirsty  soil ;  as  surface  moisture, 
bringing  nourishment  to  plants  and  animals  ;  as  streams, 
irrigating  and  fertilizing  the  land  ;  as  springs,  infusing 
health  into  many  a  shattered  frame  ;  and  lastly  as  rivers, 
bearing  along  on  their  deep  currents  the  commerce  that 
multiplies  the  comforts  of  life.  Such  are  a  few  among 
the  most  obvious  of  its  services,  but  to  complete  the  list 
would  be  found  an  impossibility.  In  every  form  and 
stage  God  has  chosen  water  as  His  servant  to  scatter  good 
gifts  among  His  creatures. 

Ocean,  clouds,  rain,  and  rivers  are  the  elements  of  a 
gigantic  circulation  on  which  the  life  of  the  world  depends. 
The  ocean  is  the  mighty  heart  —  the  clouds  and  vapors 
driven  by  the  wind  are  the  conducting  arteries  —  the  mi- 
nute rain-streamlets  are  the  capillaries  vivifying  and  nour- 
ishing every  corner  of  the  earth  ;  while  the  tiny  rills,  soon 
swelling  into  brooks  and  then  into  rivers,  are  the  return- 
ing veins  which  empty  the  water  back  into  the  mighty 
heart.  Water  is  the  blood  of  the  earth :  where  it  falls, 
the  surface  is  living  and  fruitful  ;  where  it  is  denied,  the 
ground  withers  into  sand.  Without  the  ocean  there  would 
be  no  rain  ;  without  rain,  no  fertile  land  ;  without  fertile 
land,  no  plants  ;   and  without  plants,  no  animals. 

He  gathereth  the  waters  of  the  sea  together,  as  it  were  upon  a  heap ;  and 
lnyeth  up  the  deep  as  in  a  treasure-house.  — Ps.  xxxiii. 


THE    WINDS   OF  GOD. 


Oye  winds  of  God,  bless  ye  the  Lord:  praise  Him,  and  magnify 

Him  for  ever. 

NE  cannot  bestow  a  thought  on  the  machinery  by 
which  the  various  operations  of  Nature  are  carried 
on  without  perceiving  how  much  is  accomplished 
by  means  of  air  and  water.  In  one  shape  or  another 
these  ever-busy  agents  meet  us  at  every  turn  ;  —  some- 
times acting  singly,  sometimes  in  combination,  but  always 
playing  into  each  other's  hands  with  a  perfection  which 
might  almost  be  called  intelligence,  and  which  nothing 
short  of  infinite  wisdom  could  have  devised.  Animated 
by  solar  heat  they  form  the  mightiest  engines  in  Nature's 
workshop  —  laboring  with  unerring  instinct,  fetching  and 
carrying,  fertilizing,  vivifying,  and  supporting  life.  They 
form,  as  it  were,  the  right  hand  of  Providence,  and  their 
appointed  task  is  to  distribute  blessings  over  the  world. 

As  in  water,  so  in  air  a  continual  circulation  among  the 
particles  is  going  on  ;  which  is  not  less  necessary  to  main- 
tain the  atmosphere  itself  in  a  state  of  purity,  than  it  is  to 
insure  the  performance  of  the  various  purposes  it  has  to 
fulfill.  These  movements  constitute  currents  and  winds, 
and  they  all  originate  in  a  difference  in  the  density  of  one 
portion  as  compared  with  another.  This  difference  in 
density  may  be  caused  by  the  presence  of  vapor,  or  by  the 
agency  of  heat,  to  which  may  be  added  the  influence  of 
electricity,  as  is  exhibited  in  the  gusts  that  often  suddenly 
arise  in  the  still,  close  air  which  precedes  the  thunder- 
storm. 


The   Winds  of  God.  159 

* 

Winds  range  through  an  atmosphere  encircling  our  globe 
to  a  height  of  forty-five  or  fifty  miles,  and  the  thickness 
of  this  belt  in  relation  to  the  diameter  of  the  earth  has 
been  compared  by  Maury  to  the  down  upon  a  peach.  As 
air  is  a  fluid,  we  may  consider  the  atmosphere  in  its  to- 
tality as  a  gaseous  ocean,  at  the  bottom  of  which  we  living 
creatures  exist  and  move  about.  The  upper  surface  of 
this  ocean  obeys  the  law  of  gravitation,  by  which  all  fluids 
are  compelled  to  maintain  their  level ;  and  hence,  when 
accumulations  of  air  arise  upon  its  surface  from  internal 
disturbance,  they  must,  like  the  waves  of  the  sea,  flow 
down  upon  the  lower  levels  around,  until  the  equilibrium 
is  restored.  The  air  varies  in  its  density  at  different 
heights,  according  to  the  pressure  of  the  mass  above  it. 
It  is  greatest,  therefore,  in  low  situations,  as  at  the  level 
of  the  sea,  where  it  weighs  fifteen  pounds  to  the  square 
inch,  or  nearly  one  ton  to  the  square  foot.  In  ascending, 
the  weight  of  the  aerial  column  diminishes  in  a  nearly 
fixed  ratio,  so  that  by  ascertaining  the  amount  by  means 
of  a  barometer,  the  altitude  of  any  given  spot  may  be 
pretty  accurately  determined.  So  rapidly  does  the  weight 
diminish  that,  at  the  top  of  Mont  Blanc,  for  example,  no 
less  than  one  half  of  the  total  mass  of  the  atmosphere  is 
found  to  have  been  left  below. 

One  chief  cause  of  the  varying  weight  of  the  atmos- 
phere at  the  same  level  is  the  greater  or  less  abundance 
of  aqueous  vapor  present  in  it.  Dry  air  is  60  per  cent, 
heavier  than  vapor,  and  consequently  when  vapor  takes 
the  place  of  a  portion  of  air  the  weight  of  the  atmospheric 
column  is  diminished.  This  may  be  illustrated  by  filling 
a  teacup  to  the  brim  with  water  to  represent  a  column  of 
atmosphere.  Our  position  as  mortals  upon  earth  is,  of 
course,  at  the  bottom  of  the  cup  where  the  tea-grounds 
usually  lie  ;  but  for  the  moment  we  may  suppose  ourselves 
looking  down  upon  the  top  of  the  atmosphere  represented 
by  the  surface  of  the  full  cup.     If  we  now  displace  a  por- 


1 6c  The   Winds  of  God. 

tion  of  the  water  by  pouring  in  some  lighter  fluid,  as  spirits 
of  wine  or  ether,  the  weight  of  the  column  will  be  necessa- 
rily diminished  ;  for  the  teacup,  instead  of  being  completely 
filled  as  before  with  the  denser  fluid,  will  be  partly  filled 
with  the  lighter  fluid  also.  In  exactly  the  same  ratio  the 
weight  upon  the  bottom  of  the  cup,  representing  the  surface 
of  the  earth,  will  be  lightened.  There  can  be  no  permanent 
accumulation  on  the  top,  for  the  excess  of  aeriform  fluid,  in 
obedience  to  the  law  of  gravitation,  runs  down  upon  the 
surrounding  lower  levels,  like  a  sea  wave,  by  which  means 
the  same  atmospheric  height  is  always  maintained.  The 
instrument  with  which  we  measure  the  varying  weight  of 
the  air  is  the  well-known  barometer.  A  low  state  of  the 
barometer,  therefore,  indicates  a  light  or  vaporous  condi- 
tion of  the  atmosphere  and  a  disturbance  in  the  aerial 
equilibrium •  hence,  in  a  general  way,  rain  and  wind  are 
to  be  expected.  But  in  interpreting  its  announcements 
many  other  points  have  to  be  taken  into  account,  more 
especially  with  regard  to  the  direction  of  the  wind,  and 
the  rapidity  with  which  changes  are  taking  place  in  the 
height  of  the  mercurial  column. 

How  many  there  are  who  habitually  pass  by  the  little 
instrument  as  it  hangs  in  its  corner  in  the  hall  without  a 
thought  of  gratitude  or  of  admiration  at  the  wonderful 
series  of  adjustments  on  which  its  signals  are  founded. 
How  different  it  is  at  sea  !  There  the  mariner  consults  it 
often  and  anxiously,  as  he  would  a  truthful  friend  who  can 
point  out  to  him  betimes  when  danger  threatens.  Every 
movement  is  analyzed,  its  slightest  hints  are  carefully  pon- 
dered. Never  does  a  day  pass  by  on  which  lives  are  not 
saved  by  the  warning  throbs  of  this  atmospheric  pulse. 
Of  late  years  the  barometer  has  been  conspicuously 
placed  in  almost  every  fishing  village  on  the  coast,  and  its 
signals  are  explained  by  the  best  code  of  instruction  which 
science  can  supply. 

To  be  "  as  fickle  as  the  wind  "  is  one  of  those  proverb- 


The   Winds  of  God.  161 

ial  reproaches  which  are  sometimes  with  scant  justice 
made  at  Nature's  expense.  In  reality,  however,  the  laws 
of  the  winds  are  as  fixed  as  other  physical  laws,  although, 
from  the  difficulty  of  tracing  their  action  in,  the  aerial  re- 
gions where  they  rule,  we  are  as  yet  in  the  infancy  of  our 
knowledge  respecting  them.  That  little,  however,  is  of 
immense  service  to  mankind,  and  from  the  attention  now 
given  to  this  department  of  meteorology  we  may  soon  ex- 
pect to  derive  from  it  still  greater  advantages. 

In  Ecclesiastes  we  read,  — "  The  wind  goeth  toward 
the  south,  and  turneth  about  unto  the  north  ;  it  whirleth 
about  continually,  and  the  wind  returneth  again  according 
to  his  circuits."  This  is  one  of  those  profound  expres- 
sions in  physical  science  often  met  with  in  the  sacred  vol- 
ume, which,  though  greatly  in  advance  of  the  knowledge 
prevailing  at  the  time  when  they  were  written,  have  been 
confirmed  with  literal  exactness  by  modern  investigation. 
It  contains,  indeed,  the  pith  of  all  we  know  in  regard  to 
atmospheric  circulation,  and  it  could  hardly  be  more 
clearly  or  beautifully  stated.  The  grand-  circuit  of  the 
wind  is  from  the  poles  to  the  equator  and  back  again  in 
unceasing  rounds  ;  at  one  time  sweeping  broadly  across 
the  surface  of  the  earth ;  at  another  passing  in  vast  vol- 
umes in  the  contrary  direction  in  the  upper  regions  of  the 
atmosphere.  It  is  true  these  great  streams  of  wind  are  so 
often  deflected  from  the  straight  course  to  form  the  most 
varying  local  currents,  that  it  might  at  first  sight  appear 
as  if  all  were  confusion  in  the  atmosphere.  But  those 
local  currents,  though  they  retard  and  complicate,  do  not 
ultimately  prevent  the  final  result  by  which  the  "  wind  re- 
turneth again  according  to  his  circuits."  The  "  circuits  " 
are  the  great  wind-channels  of  Nature,  and  in  them  we 
see  established  in  the  atmosphere  a  system  very  analogous 
to  those  polar-equinoctial  streams  forever  flowing  in  the 
ocean. 

The  power  which  sets  these  currents  in  motion  is  Na- 
il 


1 62  The   Winds  of  God. 

ture's  mainspring  —  the  sun.  An  enormous  body  of  air 
lying  over  the  surface  in  equatorial  regions,  being  heated 
and  rarefied  by  the  sun,  is  forced  to  ascend  by  the  pressure 
of  the  adjacent  heavier  air  brought  from  the  north  and  the 
south  by  means  of  the  Trade-winds,  and  this  loss  is  sup- 
plied by  air  from  higher  and  higher  latitudes,  until  at  last 
the  poles  themselves  are  reached.  But  no  sooner  has  this 
tendency  toward  a  vacuum  been  produced  at  the  poles, 
by  the  current  flowing  from  it,  than  an  equivalent  current 
begins  to  be  drawn  from  circumpolar  regions  to  supply 
the  void,  and  this  suction  force,  acting  backward  through 
lower  and  lower  latitudes,  at  length  arrives  at  the  original 
fountain,  which  was  the  heated  air  rising  up  from  equa- 
torial regions". 

Such,  in  general  language,  is  the  circuit  of  the  wind 
upon  the  globe,  although  locally  the  greatest  variety  in  the 
direction  of  the  currents  is  observed.  Aeronauts  experi- 
ence different  currents  at  different  heights  ;  and  the  thun- 
der-cloud may  sometimes  be  seen  advancing,  under  the 
influence  of  an  upper  current,  apparently  in  the  teeth  of 
the  wind  that  prevails  below.  On  the  Peak  of  Teneriffe 
Humboldt  found  himself  exposed  to  a  west  wind  so  vio- 
lent as  almost  to  prevent  him»from  standing  upright,  while 
the  people  on  the  plain  below  were  under  the  mild  influ- 
ence of  the  northeast  Trade. 

It  has  been  proved  by  many  interesting  observations 
that  currents  rising  from  the  earth  in  warm  regions  some- 
times take  long  courses  through  the  air  in  a  direction  con- 
trary to  the  wind  prevailing  below.  Thus,  in  various  parts 
of  Europe  bordering  on  the  Mediterranean,  red  sand, 
called  sirocco-dust,  is  occasionally  deposited  by  the  south 
wind.  According  to  popular  belief  this  dust  comes  from 
the  interior  deserts  of  Africa  ;  but  science,  aided  by  the 
microscope,  has  proved  that  sometimes  at  least  it  has  trav- 
elled from  regions  much  more  remote.  A  little  of  this 
red   substance   being  submitted  to  Ehrenberg,  he  found 


The   Winds  of  God.  163 

that  it  clearly  told  its  own  history,  being,  as  it  were,  la- 
belled with  the  debris  of  infusorial  animalcules,  whose 
home  he  knew  was  in  the  mud  of  the  Amazon.  It  ap- 
pears that  in  seasons  of  great  drought  the  river-mud, 
charged  with  these  minute  remains,  is  first  thoroughly  des- 
iccated, and  then  reduced  to  so  fine  a  powder  that  it  is 
taken  up  by  the  heated  air  into  the  higher  regions  of  the 
atmosphere.  The  current  there  joins  company  with  winds 
bound  for  the  northeast,  and  carries  its  freight  some 
thousands  of  miles  across  the  Atlantic.  It  next  sweeps 
over  the  northwest  quarter  of  Africa,  and  after  traversing 
the  Mediterranean  deposits  its  load  upon  the  adjacent 
lands.  In  this  long  journey  its  route  has  lain  through  the 
upper  regions  of  the  atmosphere,  passing  for  a  considera- 
ble part  of  the  way  over  the  Trade-wind  which  was  blow- 
ing in  exactly  the  contrary  direction. 

Let  us  here  briefly  notice  a  few  of  the  principal  winds 
that  prevail  in  different  parts  of  the  earth.  In  tropical 
countries  lying  near  the  ocean,  the  inhabitants  would  lan- 
guish under  the  stifling  air  were  they  not  regularly  re- 
freshed by  the  "sea  and  land  breezes."  In  the  West 
India  Islands,  more  especially,  these  fannings  of  Nature 
are  described  as  delicious.  Soon  after  the  morning  sun 
begins  to  glow  upon  the  land,  the  air,  heated  as  in  a 
furnace,  ascends  in  volumes,  and  its  place  is  immediately 
supplied'  by  the  cool  air  that  has  been  resting  all  the  night 
upon  the  neighboring  ocean.  Hence  the  "  sea-breeze." 
In  the  night-time,  on  the  contrary,  the  temperature  of  the 
land  falls  in  its  turn,  from  radiation,  below  the  temperature 
of  the  sea,  and  the  direction  of  the  current  is  reversed. 
It  is  now  the  air  over  the  ocean  which  is  displaced,  and 
the  air  on  the  land  which  rushes  off  seaward  to  supply  the 
void.  Hence  the  "land-breeze."  In  latitudes  far  beyond 
the  tropics,  as  on  our  own  coasts,  a  sea-breeze  is  often  felt 
in  hot  weather  toward  the  middle  of  the  day. 

The 'path  across  the  ocean  is  long  and  tedious.     More 


164  The   Winds  of  God. 

than  4000  miles  of  water  lie  between  the  Cape  de  Verde 
Islands  and  Mexico  ;  more  than  8000  miles  intervene  be- 
tween South  America  and  Australia.  Unfortunate  would 
it  have  been  for  commerce  had  there  been  no  steadiness 
in  the  breezes  of  those  regions  —  if  there  had  been  nothing 
for  the  sailor  to  reckon  upon,  and  if  every  ship  in  travers- 
ing them  had  necessarily  to  become  the  sport  of  ever- 
changing  winds.  Ocean  voyages,  instead  of  being  per- 
formed with  a  regularity  that  astonishes,  would  have  been 
in  the  highest  degree  uncertain.  The  Ruler  of  the  winds 
has  happily  ordered  it  otherwise.  Under  the  Equator 
there  is  a  narrow  belt  of  calms,  broken  by  fitful  storms  of 
rain  and  thunder.  But  on  both  sides  beyond  there  is  a 
broad  region  reaching  to  about  the  28  th  degree  of  latitude 
where  the  wind  blows  regularly  all  the  year  round.  North 
of  the  Line,  it  comes  from  the  northeast ;  south  of  the 
Line,  from  the  southeast ;  and  thus  a  favorable  breeze  is 
secured  for  ships  sailing  across  the  Atlantic  or  Pacific  in 
a  westerly  direction.  These  are  the  famous  winds  called 
The  Trades,  in  token  of  the  benefits  they  bring  to  com- 
merce ;  and  so  steadily  do  they  blow,  that  the  sails  of  a 
ship  may  sometimes  be  set  when  off  the  Cape  de  Verde 
Islands,  without  requiring  to  be  shifted  until  the  opposite 
shore  of  America  is  sighted.  In  the  Indian  Ocean  the 
Trades  likewise  prevail,  but  owing  to  the  influence  of  the 
great  Asian  deserts  elsewhere  considered,  the  northern 
Trade  is  seasonally  interrupted  and  changed  into  the 
Monsoon. 

As  the  Trades  help  ships  across  the  ocean  in  one  direc- 
tion only,  the  question  naturally  occurs,  —  How  do  they 
get  back  again  ?  Immediately  beyond  the  Trades  there  is 
providentially  another  region  of  ocean  where  the  winds, 
though  far  less  regular,  have  yet  a  prevailing  direction 
exactly  the  reverse  of  that  which  governs  the  Trades  : 
in  the  northern  hemisphere,  the  set  is  from  the  southwest ; 
in  the    southern,  it  is   from  the  northwest.     Practically, 


The   Winds  of  God.  165 

therefore,  in  whichever  direction  a  ship  may  be  crossing 
the  ocean,  the  skillful  mariner  knows  that  there  are  tracks 
in  which  propitious  winds  will  for  the  most  part  be  found. 

The  cause  of  the  Trade-winds  has  been  thus  explained. 
As  the  earth  spins  round  in  diurnal  rotation,  it  is  obvious 
that  the  land  near  the  equator,  being  farthest  from  the  axis 
of  movement,  must  go  faster  than  places  situated  either  to 
the  north  or  to  the  south.  The  former  lies,  as  it  were,  on 
the  rim  of  the  wheel,  while  the  latter  are  nearer  the  axle 
in  proportion  as  they  approach  the  poles.  Hence,  at  the 
equator,  the  surface  rotates  with  a  velocity  equal  to  16 
miles  per  minute  ;  while  in  latitude  450,  say  at  Bordeaux 
or  Venice,  the  velocity  does  not  exceed  1 1  miles.  Accord- 
ingly, as  the  aerial  polar  current,  with  the  slower  rotatory 
speed  of  higher  latitudes  impressed  upon  it,  approaches 
the  tropics,  it  is  unable  to  keep  pace  with  the  increased 
rotatory  movement  of  the  surface,  and  it  lags  behind,  or  is 
"  deflected  "  in  a  direction  which  must  necessarily  be  the 
opposite  to  that  in  which  the  earth  is  moving.  Now  the 
earth  moves  from  west  to  east.  The  north  polar  current, 
therefore,  gradually  becomes  converted  into  a  northeast 
Trade,  while  the  south  polar  current  gradually  changes 
into  a  southeast  Trade.  If  all  parts  of  the  earth  moved 
with  the  same  speed,  or  if  there  were  no  rotatory  move- 
ment at  all,  the  polar  currents  would  be  due  north  and 
south,  or  at  right  angles  to  the  equator  ■  but  the  eastern 
impulse  which  they  gradually  acquire  causes  them  to  move 
in  the  diagonal  between. 

The  westerly  winds  prevailing  beyond  the  Trades  are 
due  to  causes  just  the  reverse  of  those  now  mentioned, 
being  produced  by  currents  of  air  returning  from  the 
equator  toward  the  poles.  In  commencing  its  journey 
the  current  had  acquired,  like  the  surface  on  which  it 
rested,  a  velocity  of  16  miles  per  minute  in  an  easterly 
direction  •  which  merely  means  that  its  movement  was  in 
equilibrium  with  that  of  the  earth  itself.     But  when  it 


1 66  The   Winds  of  God. 

reached  a  latitude,  say  as  high  as  45 °,  it  found  itself  in  a 
part  of  the  globe  where,  from  the  contraction  of  the  circle, 
the  rotatory  pace  had  been  reduced  to  1 1  miles  per  minute. 
Instead,  therefore,  of  lagging  behind,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
Trades,  the  tendency  of  the  momentum  it  has  acquired 
is  to  push  it  on  toward  the  east  more  rapidly  than  the 
surface  over  which  it  passes.  The  result  is  a  prevailing 
southwesterly  wind. 

In  thinking  of  the  benefits  derived  from  these  useful 
winds,  it  is  impossible  not  to  admire  the  combination  of 
wonderful  adjustments  by  which  they  are  brought  about. 
The  very  same  cosmical  conditions  which  give  us  the 
Trades,  are  made  likewise  by  the  All-wise  Creator  to  pro- 
duce the  winds  which  blow  in  the  opposite  direction.  The 
constitution  of  the  atmosphere,  the  shape  of  the  earth,  the 
rapidity  of  its  axial  rotation,  the  effect  of  the  sun's  rays,  are 
all  regulated  and  fitted  into  each  other  in  such  a  way  as  to 
secure  for  commerce  the  advantage  of  these  regional  winds. 

Although  the  Trades  blow  with  regularity  nearly  across 
the  entire  Atlantic,  there  is  a  strip  extending  about  eighty 
miles  off  the  coast  of  Africa  where  the  influence  of  the 
northeast  Trade  is  scarcely  perceived,  forming  a  remark- 
able example  of  the  effect  of  deserts  in  turning  the  winds 
out  of  what  may  be  considered  their  natural  course.  At 
no  great  distance  in  the  interior  the  scorched  sands  of 
Sahara  are  continually  sending  up  vast  streams  of  air  into 
the  higher  regions  of  the  atmosphere,  and  hence  the  cooler 
air  off  the  coast,  instead  of  being  left  free  to  the  influences 
which  rule  the  Trades,  is  sucked  away  in  the  opposite 
direction  —  rushing  to  the  east,  and  not  to  the  west  —  in 
order  to  supply  the  void  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  desert. 
It  is,  in  reality,  a  perpetual  sea-breeze  on  a  large  scale, 
neutralizing  and  vanquishing  the  influences  which  create 
the  Trade.  It  was,  probably,  this  very  breeze  which  pre- 
vented the  Portuguese  from  exploring  in  a  westerly  direc- 
tion, and  retarded  the  discovery  of  America  ;  for,  in  push- 


The   Winds  of  God.  167 

ing  toward  the  south,  they  hugged  the  coast  of  Africa, 
within  safe  reach  of  this  wind,  and  therefore  never  got 
within  range  of  the  Trade.  On  the  other  hand,  had  there 
been  no  Trade,  Columbus  wrould  never  have  discovered 
America.  That  daring  explorer,  instead  of  creeping  along 
the  coast  kept  well  out  to  sea,  and  soon,  therefore,  fell  in 
with  the  Trade.  It  blew  so  steadily  and  carried  him  so 
far  and  so  swiftly  to  the  westward  that  his  crew  began  to 
fear  it  was  a  wind  that  would  never  change.  The  cease- 
less breeze  seemed  hurrying  them  hopelessly  on  and  on 
into  that  mysterious  sea  which  tradition  had  crowded  with 
superstitious  terrors.  Fear,  as  usual,  was  fast  loosening 
the  bands  of  discipline,  and  mutiny  was  on  the  point  of 
breaking  out,  when  the  sight  of  the  eagerly  desired  land 
rescued  Columbus  from  his  difficulty,  and  placed  a  new 
world  in  the  hitherto  unknown  void. 

The  same  conditions  which  produce  the  Trade-winds  on 
the  ocean  exist,  of  course,  on  land  also,  but  the  disturbing 
influences  of  hills  and  other  circumstances  generally  pre- 
vent them  from  being  so  well  marked,  or  even  distinguish- 
able at  all.  In  tropical  plains  of  great  extent,  however, 
they  are  sensibly  perceived.  Thus  in  South  America  there 
is  a  variable  Trade-wind  which,  sweeping  up  the  level 
Valley  of  the  Amazon,  enables  vessels  to  sail  against  the 
course  of  the  stream. 

The  Monsoons  of  the  Indian  Ocean  are  likewise  great 
aids  to  commerce,  and  both  on  this  account  and  for  other 
important  reasons  are  charged  with  blessings  to  man. 
They  may  be  described  generally  as  blowing  six  months 
in  one  direction  and  six  months  in  another,  but  there  is  a 
longer  or  shorter  interval  of  variable  winds  and  storms  in- 
terposed between  them.  From  April  to  October  the  south- 
west Monsoon  prevails,  and  ships  sailing  northward  from 
the  Cape  find,  about  the  latitude  of  12  deg.  south,  a  wind 
which  wafts  them  toward  the  southern  shores  of  Asia. 
From  October  to  April  the    northeast    Monsoon  has  its 


1 68  The   Winds  of  God. 

turn,  and  speeds  the  homeward-bound  merchantmen  acrosa 
the  Indian  Ocean  on  their  way  to  England.  The  south- 
west Monsoon  is  due  to  the  same  cause  which  has  been 
pointed  out  as  interrupting  the  continuity  of  the  Trades 
off  the  coast  of  Africa  —  the  influence  of  the  desert.  In 
the  present  instance,  the  work  of  the  Sahara  is  done  by 
the  deserts  lying  in  Central  Asia,  beyond  the  Himalayas  ; 
and  the  wind,  while  being  drawn  in  toward  them,  showers 
down  in  profusion  over  the  parched  plains  of  Hindostan' 
the  refreshing  water  it  has  gathered  up  in  the  Indian 
Ocean.  Some  additional  observations  on  these  winds  will 
be  found  in  the  chapter  which  treats  of  "  Showers  and 
Dew." 

The  hot  sand  of  the  Asian  desert  during  the  summer 
half-year  attracts  the  southwest  Monsoon,  but  it  has  no 
corresponding  action  in  causing  the  northeast  Monsoon. 
In  winter  the  sand  of  the  desert  partakes  of  the  surround- 
ing comparatively  cold  temperature,  and  exerts  no  special 
influence  on  the  direction  of  the  wind.  The  northeast 
Monsoon  in  the  Indian  Ocean  is,  therefore,  merely  the  re- 
sumption by  the  air  of  that  course  which  it  would  have 
taken  in  summer  also  but  for  the  disturbing  attraction  of 
the  desert.  It  is  in  reality  the  northeast  Trade,  similar 
to  that  which  prevails  in  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific.  But 
there  are  no  extensive  deserts  situated  in  the  southern  di- 
vision of  the  Indian  Ocean,  and  consequently  the  south- 
east Trade  blows  there  with  comparative  regularity  all  the 
year  round. 

It  is  interesting  to  remark  that  the  sandy  deserts,  which 
one  might  have  been  inclined  to  consider  as  mere  incum- 
brances on  the  earth,  are  thus  of  high  importance  in  Na- 
ture's economy.  They  may,  indeed,  be  often  regarded  as 
vast  suction-pumps,  providentially  placed  at  certain  sta- 
tions on  the  earth,  to  create  winds  and  help  on  the  trans- 
port of  moisture  to  lands  that  are  in  want  of  it.  But  for 
the  Thibetian  deserts  there  would  have  been  no  southwest 


The   Winds  of  God.  169 

Monsoon  \  and  without  the  Monsoon,  the  fertile  plains  of 
Hindostan  would  have  been  a  waste  of  sand. 

It  is  at  first  sight  more  difficult  to  understand  the  ad- 
vantages of  winds  like  the  Khamsin  and  Harmattan,  over- 
powering the  traveler  in  the  desert  with  their  suffocating 
blasts  ;  or  the  Sirocco  of  Italy  and  Greece,  prostrating 
mind  and  body  under  its  hot,  moist,  relaxing  breath  ;  or 
the  Typhoon  of  the  China  seas  ;  or  the  hurricane  of  the 
West  Indies  ;  or  the  Cyclone  which  revolves  across  the 
ocean.  The  evil  they  inflict  is  obvious,  while  the  good 
they  do  is  obscure.  But  that  they  harmonize  with  all  God's 
other  laws,  and  that  their  operation  is  ultimately  beneficial 
to  the  world,  we  may  confidently  believe.  The  currents 
and  admixture  they  promote  in  the  air  are  of  importance 
to  the  general  welfare,  and  without  doubt  outweigh  the  lo- 
cal inconvenience  they  produce.  It  is  often  observed  that 
great  storms  are  followed  by  a  sensible  improvement  in 
the  air  and  by  a  feeling  of  increased  comfort ;  hence  it  may 
justly  be  inferred  that  they  are  sent  to  cure  something  that 
is  going  wrong  in  Nature's  household.  We  know  that  the 
storm  sometimes  checks  the  pestilence  which  human  skill 
fails  to  subdue.  On  the  banks  of  the  La  Plata,  in  South 
America,  there  is  a  prevailing  wind  which  comes,  charged 
with  the  germs  of  intermittent  fever,  from  the  marshes 
lying  to  the  north.  The  wretched  inhabitants  droop  and 
sicken  and  shiver  into  their  graves.  Suddenly  a  hurricane 
sweeps  over  the  pampas  from  the  cold  summits  of  the  An- 
des in  the  southwest,  and  in  a  few  days  the  seeds  of  the 
disease  are  roughly  yet  effectually  expelled.  It  has,  more- 
over, been  remarked  that  cholera  epidemics  in  this  coun- 
try have  usually  been  attended  with  great  stillness  in  the 
atmosphere,  by  which  the  operation  of  causes  tending  to 
concentrate  the  disease  was  no  doubt  favored.  Therefore, 
when  we  hear  the  stormy  wind  howling  round  our  houses, 
and  sweeping  through  our  courts  and  closes,  let  us  think 


170 


The   Winds  of  God. 


of  it  as  one  of  Nature's  most  efficient  sanitary  agents,  by 
which  she  renovates  the  air  that  was  tainted  through  stag- 
nation, and  scatters  the  seeds  of  the  pestilence  that  were 
growing  up  for  our  destruction. 

He  bringeth  the  wind  out  of  His  treasures.  —  Ps.  cxxxv. 


FIRE  AND  HEAT. 


O  ye  Fire  and  Heat,  bless  ye  the  Lord  :  praise  Him,  and  magnify 

Him  for  ever. 

IRE  and  Heat  enter  so  essentially  into  the  grand 
operations  of  Nature  that  there  are  few  of  them 
which  might  not  fitly  be  considered  in  this  place. 
Heat  is  truly  an  almost  universal  "  Power  of  the  Lord  ;  " 
it  is  the  force  of  forces,  the  mainspring  of  movement,  and 
nothing  is  either  too  great  or  too  small  to  be  beyond  its 
action.  How  busily  it  is  ever  at  work  among  the  natural 
features  invoked  in  the  hymn  !  It  streams  from  the  sun 
and  the  stars ;  it  rules  among  the  planets.  Winter  and 
Summer,  Climate,  Winds,  Showers  and  Dew,  Ice  and 
Snow,  Cloud  and  Seas,  exist  only  through  its  operation  ; 
the  Green  Things  upon  the  earth,  Cattle,  the  Fowls  of 
the  air,  and  all  that  move  in  the  waters,  depend  on  it  for 
life.  Under  its  agency  the  earth  itself  has  been  com- 
pounded and  shaped.  Heat  is  the  great  antagonist  of  the 
attraction  exercised  between  the  particles  of  matter,  which, 
were  they  not  forced  by  it  into  expansion  and  openness, 
would  condense  into  one  solid  mass. 

In  the  affairs  of  daily  life  Fire  and  Heat  are  absolutely 
necessary  to  our  welfare.  Without  them  the  thousand 
needful  processes  of  home  would  be  brought  to  a  stand- 
still. Of  Fire  steam  is  born  —  a  power  which  we  have 
subdued  and  trained  to  do  our  work,  which  fetches  and 
carries,  which  lifts  and  lowers  for  us  with  more  than  a 
giant's  strength,  which  feeds  and  clothes  us,  and  which 
wafts  us  for  business  or  pleasure  over  land  and  sea.     Fire 


i  J?  Fire  and  Heat. 

wins  our  metals  from  the  ore,  and  fashions  them  into  a 
thousand  shapes  for  our  convenience.  Heat  is  the  strong- 
est of  that  band  of  Nature's  servants  which  work  without 
ceasing  and  which  know  neither  fatigue  nor  slumber. 

The  great  fountain  of  Fire  and  Heat  is  the  sun.  "  There 
is  nothing  hid  "  from  it.  Its  rays,  however,  are  very  un 
equally  distributed  over  the  earth,  and  without  some  cor- 
rective agency  there  would  be  an  excess  of  heat  at  the 
tropics,  and  a  degree  of  cold  in  high  latitudes  incompat- 
ible with  life.  Now  the  great  equalizers  of  heat  are,  as 
we  have  seen,  air  and  water,  and,  to  a  less  extent,  the  crust 
of  the  earth  itself,  whose  superficial  layers  are  continually 
transmitting  a  wave  of  warmth  from  the  tropics  toward 
the  poles. 

When  we  say  that,  in  the  ordinary  business  of  life,  the 
source  of  heat  is  the  combustion  of  fuel,  we  may  probably 
be  only  indicating  another  shape  in  which  the  sun's  rays 
minister  to  our  welfare.  It  may  truly  be,  as  is  suggested 
in  the  beautiful  theory  of  Professor  Tyndall,  that  the  heat 
given  out  by  bodies  in  combustion  is  only  the  yielding  up 
of  those  rays  of  the  sun  which  had  for  ages  been  impris- 
oned within  them,  and  that  a  piece  of  coal  is  only  a  store 
of  condensed  sun-heat,  absorbed  during  the  time  when  it 
was  being  formed. 

The  fuel  which  offers  itself  most  obviously  to  the  notice 
of  man  is  wood  ;  and,  as  it  exists  abundantly  in  most 
countries,  it  has  invariably  happened  that  the  fagot  pre- 
ceded the  use  of  the  mineral.  That  the  employment  of 
wood  should  have  continued  so  long  in  England  is  easy  to 
understand  when  we  consider  the  extent  of  her  ancient 
forests.  When  Julius  Caesar  landed  on  these  coasts  the 
whole  country  was  a  vast  wood,  and  a  British  town  meant 
little  more  than  a  patch  inclosed  and  cleared,  with  a  few 
huts  for  men  and  sheds  for  cattle.  But  before  a  thousand 
years  had  passed  the  character  of  the  country  had  alto- 
gether changed  }  and  the  Conqueror,  in  carving  out  his 


Fire  and  Heat. 


173 


New  Forest,  so  far  from  merely  appropriating  an  unoccu- 
pied woody  country,  pulled  down  thirty  villages  and 
churches,  and  dispeopled  a  wide,  cultivated  district.  It 
must  be  recollected,  however,  that  this  occurred  near  Win- 
chester, the  then  capital  of  the  kingdom,  where  the  popu- 
lation was  comparatively  dense,  and  the  proportion  of  ara- 
ble land  greatest.  Elsewhere  forests  abounded,  and  for 
centuries  continued  to  abound,  all  over  England.  Alas  ! 
where  are  her  old  forests  now  ?  Of  the  ninety  that  were 
flourishing  in  the  last  century  barely  half  a  dozen  survive. 
Among  these  the  Conqueror's  forest,  though  shrunk  from 
its  old  limits,  still  ranks  first  in  extent,  and  affords  some 
of  the  finest  "  rambling  "  ground  in  England.  Nor  let  us 
be  unmindful  of  Royal  Windsor,  where  scenes  of  sylvan 
beauty  occur  that  are  unsurpassed  on  earth.  Of  the  other 
forests  some,  we  grieve  to  say,  like  glorious  old  Hainault 
and  Epping,  are  being  nibbled  and  pared  out  of  existence 
before  our  eyes,  and  no  voice  is  raised  to  save  them  from 
ruin.  Soon  they  will  exist  only  in  song  and  story.  The 
loss  of  others,  such  as  Bere  in  Hampshire,  is  less  to  be 
regretted.  They  had  served  their  time,  and  fell  naturally 
before  the  plow  in  their  old  age,  after  centuries  of  use- 
fulness. With  forests  like  these  we  part  reluctantly,  but 
the  demands  of  agriculture  must  be  satisfied. 

In  the  olden  time,  as  now,  abundance  of  fuel  carried 
with  it  the  principal  manufactures,  and,  for  obvious  rea- 
sons, the  smelting  of  iron  more  especially.  This  most 
useful  of  all  metals,  like  nearly  every  thing  else  that  is  ser- 
viceable to  man,  has  been  distributed  very  widely  over  the 
earth.  It  is  a  constituent  of  nearly  every  soil  and  rock, 
it  can  often  be  traced  in  water  and  even  in  air,  and  it  also 
exists  in  the  tissues  of  most  animals  and  vegetables.  The 
great  storehouse,  however,  from  which  we  derive  our  sup- 
plies is  iron-ore,  in  which  the  metal  is  usually  combined 
with  oxygen  or  with  carbonic  acid,  and  in  no  instance  is 
iron  found  naturally  in  a  pure  state  except  when  it  exists 


174  Fire  and  Heat. 

in  the  meteoric  form.  In  the  various  processes  for  reduc- 
ing it  to  its  metallic  condition,  Fire,  aided  by  a  certain 
amount  of  carbon,  and  with  a  portion  of  limestone  as  a 
flux,  is  the  chief  agent  employed.  Wherever,  therefore, 
iron-ore  and  fuel  are  found  near  together  there  the  man- 
ufacture establishes  itself,  and  it  is  to  this  circumstance 
more  especially  that  England  owes  her  preeminence  in  the 
production  of  this  metal. 

Before  the  days  of  coal,  iron  was  smelted  with  wood  ; 
and  as  Sussex  and  the  forest  of  Dean  not  only  contained 
the  ore  but  were  abundantly  provided  with  timber,  they 
became  the  first  seats  of  the  English  iron  manufacture. 
In  process  of  time,  as  the  forests  were  cut  clown,  the 
works  were  transferred  from  Sussex  to  the  iron  fields  of 
the  north  and  west,  where  the  furnaces  would  be  heated 
and  the  ore  smelted  by  coal  found  abundantly  on  the  spot. 
And  in  proportion  as,  in  these  days,  the  use  of  iron  has 
expanded  and  driven  other  competing  substances  almost 
out  of  the  field,  an  ever-bountiful  Providence  has  led  man 
to  new  stores  of  the  metal  practically  inexhaustible.  The 
most  recently  discovered  field  in  Yorkshire  has  an  extent 
of  several  hundred  square  miles,  and  alone  would  be  suffi- 
cient to  meet  the  present  enormous  demand  for  many  cen- 
turies to  come.  In  the  year  1863  considerably  more  than 
nine  millions  of  tons  of  iron  were  produced  in  the  United 
Kingdom,  at  the  cost  of  a  consumption  of  coals  equal  to 
two  millions  of  tons.  Most  of  the  other  valuable  metals 
obtained  in  this  country  are  also  won  by  the  agency  of  Fire 
and  Heat,  from  which  may  be  estimated  the  services  per- 
formed by  them  in  a  single  department  only.  If  we  add 
to  the  operations  of  metallurgy  the  labors  of  the  coal-pit, 
we  have  a  branch  of  industry  in  the  prosecution  of  which 
immense  numbers  of  our  population  obtain  the  means  of 
daily  support. 

Coal  is  the  most  valuable  fuel  in  existence.     It  is,  how- 
ever, a   singular  illustration  of  the  slowness  with  which 


Fire  and  Heat. 


175 


useful  discoveries  are  made,  even  under  favorable  cir- 
cumstances, that  some  thousands  of  years  should  have 
rolled  over  the  world  before  the  superiority  of  coal  over 
wood  as  a  heat-producer  came  to  be  generally  recognized. 
The  inferiority  of  wood  is  in  great  measure  due  to  the 
quantity  of  water  which  it  contains  ;  as  the  water,  in  pass- 
ing off  in  a  state  of  vapor,  absorbs  much  heat  which 
would  otherwise  have  become  sensible.  Hence,  also,  the 
advantage  of  keeping  wood  that  is  to  be  used  for  fuel  un- 
til it  becomes  dry.  Coal  was  unknown  to  the  Greeks  and 
Romans  ;  and  although  cinders  have  been  found  in  the 
excavations  at  Uriconium,  it  is  doubtful  if  it  began  to  be 
burnt  as  fuel  in  England  until  long  after  the  Romans  had 
left.  It  is  probable,  however,  that  the  black  lumps  found 
here  and  there  upon  the  surface,  or  in  digging  for  wells, 
or  in  other  accidental  ways,  were  known  to  be  combusti- 
ble long  before  the  increase  of  population  and  the  dwind- 
ling away  of  the  forests  forced  men,  as  it  were,  to  the 
regular  use  of  coal.  Like  many  other  valuable  discover- 
ies, it  had  for  centuries  to  contend  against  the  prejudices 
of  numerous  enemies,  and  many  evil  things  were  said 
about  it.  In  the  13th  and  14th  centuries  it  was  the  fash- 
ion to  petition  against  it  as  a  nuisance,  just  as  we  now 
protest  against  noxious  exhalations  from  chemical  works. 
So  prejudicial  to  health  were  coals  considered,  that  they 
were  not  tolerated  in  London,  or  even  in  its  vicinity,  un- 
der the  severest  penalty,  and  a  smith  who  used  them  in 
his  forge  instead  of  wood  was  in  danger  of  being  sent  to 
prison.  Not  until  toward  the  year  1400  did  the  use  of 
coal  become  general  in  the  metropolis,  and,  even  after 
that,  wood  continued  to  be  the  fuel  of  the  country  until 
the  time  of  Charles  I. 

Although  we  speak  of  coal  as  a  mineral,  it  is  neverthe- 
less of  vegetable  origin.  Every  particle  of  it,  except  that 
earthy  residuum  which  in  good  coal  is  very  small  in 
amount,  once  formed  part  of  a  living  plant.     There  is  a 


176  Fire  and  Heat. 

kind  called  Lignite,  which  often  consists  of  little  else  than 
fossilized  trees ;  but  the  more  perfect  varieties  may  be 
considered  as  having  their  origin  in  peat-producing  plants 

—  chiefly  mosses  —  which  have  been  in  the  course  of 
time  compressed  and  metamorphosed  into  coal.  All 
traces  of  moss  structure  have  for  the  most  part  been  ob- 
literated. But  in  the  same  way  as  fragments  of  wood  have 
been  abundantly  preserved  in  our  bogs,  so  in  the  coal 
strata  —  those  bogs  of  ancient  days  —  relics  of  the  trees 
which  once  flourished  beside  the  peat  are  frequently  found, 
likewise  converted  into  coal,  and  in  them  the  original 
structure  of  the  wood,  even  to  its  microscopic  details,  is 
often  beautifully  displayed. 

The  quantity  of  carbon  anciently  extracted  from  the  air, 
fixed  in  the  tissues  of  plants,  and  then  gradually  converted 
into  coal,  is  enormous.  The  area  of  all  the  known  coal- 
fields in  the  world  is  computed  to  be  220,000  square  miles 

—  more  than  the  whole  surface  of  France  —  which,  allow- 
ing a  moderate  average  thickness  of  20  feet,  would  be 
equal  to  a  solid  cube  nearly  10  miles  in  dimension.  As 
Professor  Rogers  observes,  it  would  form  "  a  square  pla- 
teau 100  miles  wide  at  the  base,  and  more  than  500  feet 
in  height."  The  proportion  of  our  British  lump  of  coal 
"  would  be  a  cube  of  a  little  more  than  three  miles  in 
diameter." 

Within  the  last  century  the  consumption  of  coals  has 
increased  to  an  extent  never  dreamt  of  by  our  forefathers. 
In  round  numbers  we  are  using  up  about  100  millions  of 
tons  annually.  Who  can  enumerate  or  even  conceive  the 
sum  of  enjoyment  which  is  daily  extracted  from  this  huge 
black  heap  ?  How  many  millions  of  hearths  are  made 
cheery  by  its  glow,  how  many  palaces  and  cottages  are 
filled  by  it  with  comfort-bringing  heat.  What  countless 
numbers  of  things  of  use  or  beauty  are  manufactured  by 
its  aid  for  our  enjoyment.  For  how  many  mouths  does  it 
not  prepare  daily  food.     What  great  work  is  there  which 


Fire  and  Heat.  177 

it  does  not  help  on  ?  From  its  dull-looking  fragments  is 
distilled  the  gas  which  brightens  up  our  houses  and  our 
streets.  To  coals  we  owe  steam,  and  what  is  there  in 
these  days  which  we  do  not  owe  to  steam  ?  Steam  gives 
us  muscles  stronger  than  iron,  and  yet  finer  in  action  than 
the  most  delicate  hand.  With  the  tools  which  man's  in- 
genuity has  provided,  it  labors  incessantly  without  rest, 
and  performs  its  task  with  a  certainty  and  exactness  with 
which  nothing  human  can  compete.  Be  the  work  rough 
or  smooth,  coarse  or  fine,  steam  adjusts  itself  to  it  with 
matchless  skill.  Steam  wields  the  ponderous  hammer  as 
if  it  were  no  heavier  than  a  feather,  and  can  with  equal 
ease  crush  an  iron  beam  or  crack  a  nutshell.  The 
amount  of  labor  saved  and  the  physical  strength  thus 
gifted  to  man  are  enormous.  Give  a  good  steam-engine  a 
bushel  of  coals,  and  it  will  lift  a  weight  of  125  million  lbs. 
one  foot  from  the  ground  !  Every  three  tons  of  coals  are 
"  the  convertible  equivalent  of  one  man's  life-long  mus- 
cular activity."  The  15  millions  of  tons  annually  con- 
sumed in  this  country  in  the  production  of  mechanical 
force  is  equal  to  20  millions  of  horses,  or  to  a  band  of 
100  millions  of  men  !  The  power  thus  acquired  is  turned 
at  will  into  an  infinity  of  channels,  all  working  in  the  ser- 
vice of  man. 

By  the  beneficent  design  of  Providence  coal-mines  are 
widely  distributed  over  the  earth,  and  our  own  islands, 
more  especially,  have  been  blessed  with  an  abundance 
that  calls  for  thankfulness.  The  aggregate  extent  of  our 
coal-fields  amounts  to  no  less  than  five  thousand  four  hun- 
dred square  miles.  Yet  when  we  consider  our  enormous 
consumption  and  reckless  waste,  we  wonder  not  that 
thoughtful  minds  should  look  forward  with  anxiety  to  the 
possible  advent  of  a  day  when  our  pits  shall  have  become 
exhausted.  .That  day  may  be  distant ;  still  it  is  confess- 
edly not  so  very  remote  as  to  lie  beyond  the  range  of  pres- 
ent interest.  In  a  question  of  this  nature,  where  the 
12 


178  Fire  and  Heat. 

difficulty  of  obtaining  exact  data  is  so  great,  it  is  but  nat- 
ural that  opinions  should  widely  differ  ;  but,  on  the  whole, 
we  may  accept  with  some  confidence  the  assurance  that 
the  stock  of  coal  yet  on  hand  will  suffice  for  at  least  a 
thousand  years  to  come. 

Within  the  last  few  years  the  bounteous  earth  has 
yielded  up  to  man  another  source  of  light  and  heat  in 
Petroleum,  which  has  already  assumed  commercially  the 
highest  importance.  It  was  observed  during  the  Burmese 
war  that  rock-oil  was  much  used  by  the  natives  for  ordi- 
nary illumination ;  and,  when  peace  was  concluded,  it  be- 
gan to  be  imported  into  this  country.  It  is  now  obtained 
in  considerable  quantities  from  other  quarters  also,  es- 
pecially from  the  districts  on  the  Lower  Danube.  But  all 
these  sources  are  thrown  into  the  shade  by  the  oil-wells 
of  North  America.  In  1863  the  quantity  raised  from  the 
Pennsylvanian  springs  alone  was  40  millions  of  gallons, 
while  that  from  Canada  amounted  to  250,000  gallons ;  and 
since  then  the  produce  has  been  steadily  increasing.  In 
this  country,  after  purification,  Petroleum  is  much  used 
as  oil  for  lamps  ;  and  paraffine,  or  mineral-wax  candles, 
are  also  extensively  manufactured  from  it.  Large  quanti- 
ties of  oil  of  an  excellent  quality  are  likewise  obtained 
from  the  shale  in  contiguity  with  the  coal  measures,  a 
substance  which  only  a  year  or  two  ago  was  deemed  refuse 
of  no  value.  A  single  ton  of  the  Torbanehill  mineral  is 
capable  of  producing  120  gallons  of  oil.  Recent  trials 
also  indicate  that  Petroleum  is  well  adapted  as  fuel  for 
marine  engines,  as  it  produces  a  larger  quantity  of  steam 
in  proportion  to  its  bulk  than  can  be  obtained  from  coal. 

How  much  it  seems  to  be  a  matter  of  course  to  see  the 
fire  burning  brightly  on  a  cold  winter  night.  We  enjoy 
the  comfort  it  diffuses,  and,  perhaps,  we  congratulate  our- 
selves that  coals  are  so  easy  to  be  had.  But  how  rarely 
do  we  carry  our  thoughts  a  step  further,  or  reflect  upon 
the  extraordinary  nature  of  the  blessing.     Countless  ages 


Fire  and  Heat.  179 

ago  our  Father  anticipated  our  wants  and  provided  for 
their  relief.  The  coal  we  burn  is,  so  to  speak,  manufac- 
tured, and  the  manufacture  was  established  thousands  of 
years  ago,  when  God  caused  to  grow  the  mosses  and  other 
little  plants  which  by  slow  accumulation  became  masses 
of  peat.  The  raw  material  then  went  through  other  long 
processes.  It  was  compressed  and  solidified  and  chem- 
ical changes  were  wrought  in  it.  Then,  lastly,  the  pre- 
cious coal  was  stowed  away  carefully  in  the  cellars  of  the 
earth  on  purpose  that  we  might  be  made  warm  and  happy 
by  the  "  Fire  and  Heat,"  which  from  the  beginning  of  its 
creation  it  was  designed  to  supply. 

In  looking  back  at  the  history  of  fuel,  the  mind  that 
loves  to  trace  design  in  the  ways  of  Providence  cannot 
fail  to  be  struck  by  the  wise  economy  with  which  the 
treasures  of  the  earth  have  been  gradually  unlocked,  and 
one  supply  after  another  has  been  granted  as  the  neces- 
sity for  it  seemed  to  arise.  In  the  old  time,  when  forests 
were  everywhere  and  population  was  sparse,  wood  was  the 
fuel  invariably  used.  So  long  as  manufactures  were  in 
their  infancy  the  primeval  forest  answered  all  demands 
made  on  it.  But  in  process  of  time  population  multiplied, 
and  it  was  necessary  to  strip  the  land  of  trees  on  purpose 
that  it  might  be  sown  with  corn.  Wood  then  became  less 
abundant.  New  sources  of  heat  were,  therefore,  abso- 
lutely needed  ;  so  God  taught  man  the  use  of  coal,  which 
had  previously  been  esteemed  mere  rubbish.  Again,  as 
oil  from  the  old  supplies  became  more  scarce,  and  the 
demand  for  street  and  house  lighting  increased,  the  gas 
imprisoned  in  the  coal  was  discovered,  and  our  power  of 
illumination  was  thereby  almost  indefinitely  augmented. 
To  economize  Nature's  resources  vegetable  wax  and  vari- 
ous vegetable  oils  have  also  recently  been  much  emplcyed. 
Lastly  Petroleum  was  discovered,  and  the  oil  fountains  of 
the  earth  were  made  to  flow  for  our  use.  There  is  still 
the  probability  that  some  of  the  metals  may  be  made  avail- 


i8o  Fire  and  Heat. 

able  for  illumination,  and  that  before  many  years  are  over 
our  means  may  be  still  further  economized  by  a  more  fre- 
quent application  of  the  electric  light.  Have  we  now  ar- 
rived, it  may  be  asked,  at  the  end  of  the  long  list  of  Na- 
ture's resources,  and  are  we  to  believe  that  when  the  last 
coal-pit  has  been  worked  out,  and  the  last  oil-spring  emp- 
tied, we  shall  be  left  to  perish  with  cold,  or  at  least  to  live, 
miserably,  deprived  of  the  comforts  which  for  so  many 
ages  have  been  placed  within  our  reach  ?  With  the  firmest 
conviction  we  repel  such  a  thought.  It  is  utterly  repug- 
nant to  our  knowledge  of  the  merciful  ways  of  Providence. 
Our  Father  enriches  but  never  impoverishes  the  earth, 
and  the  intelligence  of  His  creatures  is  ever  made  the 
means  by  which  new  gifts  are  discovered.  The  essential 
constituents  of  fuel  are  only  two  —  carbon  and  hydrogen. 
To  them  wood,  coal,  and  every  other  kind  of  fuel  owe 
their  heating  virtue.  Now  the  world  is  literally  packed 
with  carbon  and  hydrogen,  and  it  is  not  in  the  power  of 
man  to  dissipate  these  elements  of  supply.  Carbon  is 
the  staple  out  of  which  animals  and  vegetables  are  built 
up  ;  it  is  a  constituent  of  many  rocks  and  of  every  soil, 
and  it  pervades  the  air.  Hydrogen  is  even  more  abun- 
dant. It  forms  one  ninth  part  by  weight  of  every  drop  of 
water  on  the  globe,  and  therefore  it  may  be  said  that 
rivers  and  lakes  and  the  ocean  itself  are  vast  reservoirs 
of  latent  fire.  Of  the  two  constituents  of  water,  one  — 
oxygen  —  is  an  admirable  promoter  of  combustion,  and 
the  other  —  hydrogen  —  burns  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances with  more  heat  than  coal,  while  by  the  skillful  ad- 
mixture of  the  two  a  temperature  of  the  highest  intensity 
is  produced.  We  do  not  attempt  in  these  conjectural 
hints  to  indicate  the  way  in  which  such  materials  will  be 
made  available,  and  the  want  of  coal  supplied,  but  only 
to  point  out  that  sources  of  "  Fire  and  Heat  "  exist  every- 
where around  us,  and  that,  when  need  comes,  God  will  in- 
spire His  children  with  wisdom  to  turn  them  to  account. 


Fire  and  Heat. 


181 


In  looking  into  the  future,  therefore,  let  us  dismiss  anxiety 
from  our  minds,  in  the  firm  conviction  that  Nature's  re- 
sources are  boundless,  and  that,  if  the  world  be  still  exist- 
ent in  those  far-off  days,  God  will  not  forsake  the  race  for 
whom  His  providence  has  done,  and  daily  does  so  much. 

0  put  your  trust  in  Him  alway.  —  Ps.  lxii. 


FROST  AND   COLD.— ICE  AND  SNOW. 

O  ye  Frost  and  Cold,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise  Him,  and  mag- 
nify Him  for  ever. 

O  ye  Ice  and  Sno<w,  bless  ye  the  Lord:  praise  Him,  and  magnify 

Him  for  ever. 

|ROST  and  snow  are  so  often  associated  in  the 
mind  with  physical  suffering,  or  with  bleak  winter 
and  inhospitable  polar  regions,  that  their  services 
in  Nature's  economy  are  apt  to  be  overlooked.  That  the 
Three  Children  understood  their  operation  better  is  ob- 
vious from  the  circumstance  that  cold  and  its  effects  are 
dwelt  upon  in  the  hymn  with  a  minuteness  bordering  on 
redundancy,  as  illustrations  not  only  of  Power  but  also  of 
Goodness  and  Wisdom. 

It  seems  unnecessary  to  remind  any  of  my  readers  that 
cold  has  no  existence  as  a  separate  or  independent  princi- 
ple, and  that  it  merely  implies  in  a  general  way  the  lower 
ranges  of  temperature.  The  word,  therefore,  will  fre- 
quently be  found  in  the  remarks  that  follow,  both  because 
it  is  a  convenient  term,  familiarly  used  and  well  under- 
stood by  all,  and  because  it  has  been  specially  introduced 
into  the  hymn. 

Snow  has  its  well-known  aspects  of  beauty.  Where  can 
the  eye  rest  upon  such  an  expanse  of  purest,  dazzling  white 
as  the  unbroken  sheet  it  lays  upon  the  fields  in  winter,  and 
how  picturesque  the  trees  appear  with  the  snow-flakes 
clinging  to  their  twigs  and  branches.  Bathed  in  the  light 
of  the  sun  the  snow-wreath  often  sends  back  the  color  in 
pale  but  beautiful  reflection.     At  sunrise  and   at    sunset 


Frost  and  Cold.  —  Ice  and  Snow.      183 

the  snow-clad  Alps  glow  in  rose  and  gold.  Sometimes 
the  snow,  especially  of  polar  regions,  is  tinted  red  by 
myriads  of  minute  algae  which  a  pass  frugal  life  upon  its 
sterile  surface,  and  the  famous  crimson  snow-cliffs  of  Baf- 
fin's Bay  arrest  the  attention  of  the  passing  navigator  at  a 
distance  of  ten  miles  from  the  shore.  The  beauty  of  snow 
is  of  that  true  kind  that  bears  a  close  inspection.  A  few 
grains  taken  from  the  heap  that  gathers  upon  the  window- 
sill  will  exhibit  the  prettiest  crystals  when  looked  at  in  the 
microscope. 

Ice  is  even  more  beautiful  than  snow.  Who  has  not 
stopped  to  admire  the  sunbeams  playing  with  the  icicles 
and  winning  glowing  tints  from  their  cold  surface,  or  the 
windows  encrusted  with  their  frosty  featherings,  or  the 
trees  decked  stiffly  in  fleeting  robes  of  crystal  ?  Who  has 
not  peered  curiously  at  the  stones  and  plants  lying  under 
the  clear  sheet  of  glass  in  which  ice  wraps  up  the  brook  in 
winter.  Sometimes  it  is  prettily  "  belled  "  with  air,  as  if 
the  water  had  been  suddenly  struck  motionless  in  the  act 
of  effervescence  ;  sometimes  the  tiny  air-globules  are  so 
crowded  together  as  to  make  the  ice  look  white  like 
hardened  snow.  But  it  is  in  glaciers,  more  especially, 
that  the  most  beautiful  tints  are  to  be  seen.  Transmitted 
light  frequently  imparts  a  greenish  color  to  their  masses ; 
at  other  times,  they  assume  the  milky  dimness  of  the  opal. 
Sometimes  their  huge  fragments  have  been  compared  to 
blocks  of  beryl ;  more  rarely  their  blue  has  the  fine  tint  of 
aquamarine.  Not  unfrequently  the  ice  decks  itself  in  all 
the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  The  play  of  the  low,  midnight 
sun  on  the  glaciers  of  the  coast  of  Greeland  has  been 
described  as  making  "  the  ice  around  one  great  resplen- 
dency of  gem-work,  blazing  carbuncle  and  rubies  and  mol- 
ten gold." 

Ice  water  is  purer  than  that  procured  from  snow.  The 
latter,  besides  the  air  mixed  with  it,  usually  contains  some 
animal  matter  and  other  impurities    gathered  from  the 


184  Frost  and  Cold. 

■# 

atmosphere.  In  freezing,  water  has  a  strong  tendency  to 
free  itself  from  the  foreign  matters  it  may  contain  ;  and 
advantage  has  been  taken  of  this  circumstance,  in  arctic 
regions,  to  procure,  on  the  one  hand,  salt ;  and,  on  the 
other,  drinkable  water.  McClintock  found  that  in  each 
successive  freezing  the  ice  became  less  salt  •  until,  after 
the  fourth  time,  ice  was  formed  which  on  melting  yielded 
fresh  water.  From  the  brine  left  behind  salt  was  readily 
procured  by  evaporation. 

The  Three  Children  could  not  survey  the  river  that 
washed  the  walls  of  Babylon  without  being  reminded  how 
much  it  owed  to  frost  and  snow.  In  the  fierce  Mesopota- 
mian  summer,  when  wells  were  drying  up  and  many 
streams  had  ceased  to  flow,  the  Euphrates  was  still  fed 
from  the  snowy  reservoirs  of  the  Armenian  Mountains. 
And  when  the  people,  like  Nature  all  around,  drooped 
under  the  withering  heat  of  the  sun,  the  winds  which 
braced  their  exhausted  nerves  gathered  coolness  from  the 
same  high  sources. 

As  there  are  "  sweet  uses  in  adversity,"  so  does  the 
rigor  of  winter  in  northern  climates  enhance  the  enjoyment 
of  summer.  Thankful  thoughts  should  rise  when  we  call 
to  mind  the  wood  and  coal  and  springs  of  oil  given  to  us 
as  means  by  which  cold  may  be  mitigated  or  subdued. 
These,  no  doubt,  are  commonplace  subjects  and  reflec- 
tions. Our  life  itself  is  spent  among  commonplace  things  ; 
but,  when  we  make  them  lead  to  thoughts  that  honor  God, 
we  elevate  them  above  their  commonness  and  invest  them 
with  the  dignity  of  aiding  devotion. 

It  is  well  known  that  water  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances freezes  at  320  Fahr.  In  passing  to  the  solid  state 
it  expands  with  a  force  sufficient  to  burst  pipes  of  lead,  or 
even  of  iron,  as  householders  know  to  their  cost.  This 
force,  which  acts  on  a  vast  scale  over  the  greater  part  of 
the  world,  may  well  be  deemed  one  of  the  "  Powers  of 
the  Lord."  Thus  it  splits  wood,  rends  the  rock,  and 
breaks  up  the  weather-worn  fragments  into  fertile  soil. 


Ice  and  Snow.  185 

Under  varying  circumstances  cold  produces  the  different 
effects  mentioned  in  the  hymn.  It  converts  water  into 
ice,  and  atmospheric  vapor  into  rain  or  snow  or  hail ;  and 
when  the  vapor  is  in  contact  with  the  ground,  instead  oi 
being  deposited  as  dew,  it  may  be  frozen  into  hoar-frost 
Cold  brings  sleep  to  the  vegetable  world,  and  prepares  it 
by  a  period  of  rest  to  burst  forth  with  fresh  vigor  in  the 
spring.  Snow  and  frost  are  valuable  servants  to  the 
husbandman.  By  expanding  the  moisture  with  which  the 
hard  clods  are  permeated,  Frost  crumbles  them  down  and 
renders  the  stiff  land  friable,  porous,  and  mellow.  Frost, 
likewise,  rids  the  soil  of  some  of  its  insect  or  vermin  life, 
which,  but  for  this  check,  might  increase  to  an  extent  that 
would  seriously  damage  the  crops.  In  winter  it  gives  the 
soft,  moist  ground  the  necessary  hardness  to  allow  field 
operations  to  be  carried  on.  Snow  is  even  more  useful. 
It  covers  up  the  tender  plants  as  with  a  blanket,  and  pre- 
serves them  against  the  effects  of  excessive  cold.  "  He 
giveth  snow  like  wool."  The  blanket  thus  softly  laid  on  is 
"  a  bad  conductor,"  neither  allowing  the  heat  which  is  in 
the  earth  to  pass  out,  nor,  if  we  may  use'  the  expression, 
the  external  cold  to  pass  in.  Observation  shows  that  the 
inner  surface  of  the  snow  seldom  falls  much  below  320 
Fahr.,  although  the  temperature  of  the  air  outside  may  be 
many  degrees  under  the  freezing  point ;  and  it  is  found 
that  the  crops  can  stand  this  amount  of  cold  without 
injury,  so  long  as  their  covering  protects  them  from  the 
raking  influence  of  the  wind.  In  climates  where  the 
winter's  cold  is  longer  and  more  intense  than  in  our  sea- 
girt island,  the  protecting  influence  of  the  snow  is  more 
conspicuously  marked.  In  northern  climates  snow,  in  its 
own  fashion,  sometimes  opens  out  routes  which  were  im- 
practicable in  summer  from  their  ruggedness,  and  prepares 
a  path  for  the  sledge,  or  for  the  "  lumberer,"  over  which 
the  largest  stems  of  the  forest  may  be  dragged  with  ease 
to  the  canal  or  river. 


1 86  Frost  and  Cold. 

In  polar  regions  snow  supplies  the  ever-ready  material 
out  of  which  the  Esquimaux  construct  their  houses,  and 
hardy  explorers  extemporize  the  huts  in  which  they  find 
shelter  when  absent  from  their  ships  on  distant  expedi- 
tions. Nor  are  the  ships  themselves  considered  "  snug  in 
winter-quarters  "  until  their  sides  have  been  banked  up  in 
walls  of  snow,  and  the  roof  raised  over  the  deck  has  been 
thickly  covered  with  it.  Experience  has  proved  that  a 
layer  of  frozen  snow,  four  inches  thick,  forms  an  excellent 
thatch  for  houses  and  ships  in  those  biting  regions.  Snow 
huts  are  warmer  than  might  have  been  anticipated.  If 
built  on  ice  covering  the  sea,  their  temperature  is  sensibly 
affected  by  the  heat  of  the  unfrozen  water  below,  which  is 
said  seldom  to  fall  much  under  400  Fahr.  in  any  part  of 
the  ocean.  Even  where  the  external  temperature  has  sunk 
to  200  or  300  below  zero,  sufficient  warmth  is  produced  in 
a  snow  hut  by  the  huddling  together  of  three  or  four  per- 
sons within  it.  When  Kane  passed  a  cold  arctic  winter's 
night  in  the  hut  of  "  Mrs.  Eiderduck,"  beyond  Smith's 
Sound,  the  temperature  produced  by  its  complement  of 
lodgers  and  two  or  three  oil  lamps  reached  90°  Fahr. ;  so 
that  he  was  compelled  by  the  heat  to  follow  the  example 
of  the  rest  of  the  party  and  partially  to  divest  himself  of 
his  clothing.  In  latitude  790  north,  Kane  marked  a  tem- 
perature of  750  below  zero  in  the  month  of  February.  No 
fluid  could  resist  it.  Even  chloric  ether  became  solid,  and 
the  air  was  pungent  and  acrid  in  respiration. 

How  great  soever  may  be  the  intensity  of  the  cold  which 
is  naturally  produced  in  high  latitudes,  it  is  moderate  in 
comparison  to  that  which  can  be  obtained  by  artificial 
means.  The  principle  of  freezing-mixtures  depends  on 
the  fact  that  heat  is  absorbed  and  becomes  "  latent "  when- 
ever a  solid  passes  into  a  liquid  state,  or  when  a  liquid 
passes  into  vapor ;  and  that  cold  is,  therefore,  produced  in 
the  medium  from  which  that  heat  is  withdrawn.  This  is 
easily  illustrated  by  the  cold  which  is  excited  when  a  little 


Ice  and  Snow.  187 

Eau  de  Cologne  is  placed  on  the  forehead  and  allowed  to 
evaporate.  The  intensity  of  the  cold  is  in  proportion  to 
the  rapidity  with  which  the  vaporization  is  accomplished. 
Snow  melts  in  temperatures  above  320,  and  produces  a 
certain  amount  of  cold ;  but  if  we  can,  by  mixing  it  with 
some  solvent,  make  it  melt  faster,  a  greater  degree  of  cold 
is  the  result.  Thus  a  mixture  of  equal  parts  of  snow  and 
common  salt  brings  down  the  temperature  from  320  to 
zero,  merely  from  the  rapidity  with  which  the  salt  causes 
snow  to  change  from  the  solid  to  the  liquid  form.  When, 
therefore,  in  winter  the  pathway  is  strewn  with  salt,  the 
snow  no  doubt  quickly  disappears,  but  at  the  cost  of  an 
amount  of  cold  which  may  be  very  dangerous  to  persons 
who  have  to  wade  through  it. 

The  greatest  artificial  cold,  however,  is  produced  not  by 
liquefaction  but  by  evaporation.  Alcohol,  ether,  and  Eau 
de  Cologne  evaporate  quickly  and  cause  cold  ;  but  there 
are  substances  which  by  skillful  management  can  be  made 
to  evaporate  much  more  rapidly,  and,  therefore,  to  produce 
a  much  greater  amount  of  cold.  There  are  many  sub- 
stances, of  which  carbonic  acid  is  an  example,  which  in 
their  natural  state  exist  as  gases,  but  which  by  a  combina- 
tion of  pressure  to  eliminate,  or,  as  it  were,  "  squeeze  out  " 
their  component  heat,  and  of  a  surrounding  cold  mixture 
to  absorb  this  heat  the  instant  it  is  developed,  may  be 
made  to  assume  a  liquid,  or  even  a  solid  state.  Subse- 
quently when  these  agencies  are  removed  the  solid  evapo- 
rates, or  resumes  its  natural  condition  of  a  gas  with  almost 
explosive  rapidity,  producing,  by  its  inordinate  absorption 
of  heat,  a  most  intense  cold  in  things  in  contact  with  it. 
By  employing  a  bath  of  solid  carbonic  acid  and  ether, 
Faraday  produced  a  cold  equal  to  1060  below  zero  in  the 
open  air,  and  1660  in  vacuo.  But  even  this  intense  tern- 
perature  has  been  left  far  behind  by  Natterer,  who,  by  em- 
ploying in  vacuo  a  mixture  of  protoxide  of  nitrogen  and 
bisulphide  of  carbon,  produced  a  cold  equal  to  2200  below 
zero. 


1 88  Frost  and  Cold, 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  remind  the  reader  that  heat, 
as  a  rule,  causes  bodies  to  expand.  The  iron  rod  which, 
when  cold,  just  passes  easily  through  a  ring,  can  no  longer 
do  so  when  it  has  been  made  hot,  on  account  of  the  ex- 
pansion it  has  undergone.  It  is  to  make  allowance  for 
this  swelling  during  the  summer's  heat  that  the  ends  of 
the  iron  rails  "  on  the  line  "  are  not  placed  in  actual  con- 
tact, but  have  a  little  space  left  between  them  ;  and  it  is 
from  the  contraction  which  the  heated  iron  tire  undergoes 
on  cooling  that  it  is  made  to  clasp  firmly  round  the  wheel, 
when  water  is  dashed  upon  it.  In  this  manner  the  expan- 
sion or  contraction  of  bodies  under  the  application  of  heat 
or  cold  is  turned  to  account  in  many  operations.  Some- 
times, on  the  other  hand,  those  qualities  lead  to  incon- 
veniences, which  for  the  most  part  may  be  removed  by  the 
exercise  of  that  ingenuity  which  man  has  received  for  the 
purpose.  There  is  one  substance  —  water  —  which  has 
been  made  an  exception  to  the  general  rule  by  the  Creator, 
with  a  design  so  clearly  merciful  that  none  can  fail  to 
appreciate  it  with  thankfulness.  Let  us  first  consider  what 
would  have  happened  if  water  had  been  subject,  through- 
out all  temperatures,  to  the  regular  law  of  contraction  on 
the  application  of  cold.  We  will  suppose  it  is  winter,  and 
that  sharp  frost  is  at  work  upon  lake  and  river.  As  each 
layer  of  water  on  the  surface  cooled,  it  would  contract, 
and  by  thus  becoming  denser  it  would  sink  to  the  bottom. 
Another  layer  of  water  would  necessarily  take  its  place 
upon  the  top,  and  being  cooled  in  its  turn,  would  likewise 
sink.  In  this  manner  a  continuous  circulation  of  cold 
water  to  the  bottom  and  warmer  water  to  the  surface 
would  go  on  until  all  the  water  had  been  cooled  down  to 
3 20  Fahrenheit,  when  the  whole  mass  would  suddenly  set 
into  ice.  Consider  the  evils  that  would  arise  over  a  large 
part  of  the  world  from  such  a  physical  arrangement. 
Breaking  through  the  ice  would  lead  to  no  unfrozen  reser- 
voir below.    The  mills  would  stop.    Spring,  river,  and  lake 


Ice  and  Snow.  189 

would  be  equally  involved  when  frost  was  intense  and 
long  continued.  Animal  and  vegetable  life  existing  within 
them  would  perish.  The  fishes  would  be  caught  in  their 
swimming,  and  frozen  as  rigid  as  the  prison  walls  of  ice 
in  which  they  were  inclosed.  From  surface  to  bottom 
movement  would  cease,  and  the  water  would  be  changed 
into  a  solid  block  of  crystal. 

After  the  frost  had  yielded  and  the  genial  sun  once 
more  shone  forth,  his  brightest  rays  would  have  encoun- 
tered difficulty  and  delay  in  unsealing  the  solid  mass  of 
waters.  A  pool,  no  doubt,  would  speedily  have  formed 
upon  the  surface  of  the  ice,  but  water  is  a  "  bad  con- 
ductor," and  would  act  as  a  screen  partially  to  intercept 
the  heat  from  passing  more  deeply.  The  temperature  of 
the  pool  of  water  might  even  have  been  raised  consider- 
ably without  transmitting  much  heat  to  the  mass  of  ice 
underneath.  We  all  know  that  when  heat  is  applied  to 
water  from  below,  as  in  a  kettle,  it  is  speedily  "  carried," 
not  "  conducted,"  to  all  parts  by  the  currents  immediately 
established.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  the  heat  be  ap- 
plied at  the  top,  no  downward  currents  are  formed,  and  it 
must  be  slowly  propagated  by  "  conduction,"  as  in  a  solid 
body.  To  exhibit  the  bad  conducting  power  of  water, 
Count  Rumford  devised  a  very  striking  experiment,  which 
can  be  easily  repeated.  Having  fixed  some  ice  at  the 
bottom  of  a  tall  glass  jar,  he  filled  the  jar  with  cold  water, 
and  then  applied  heat  round  it  near  the  top.  In  a  short 
time  the  fluid  at  the  upper  part  of  the  jar  was  found  to  be 
boiling  briskly,  while  the  ice  at  the  bottom  remained 
almost  unaffected.  -  Now  if  we  imagine  the  ice  in  this  ex- 
periment to  be  the  ice  at  the  bottom  of  a  lake,  and  the 
heat  artificially  applied  above  to  be  the  warmth  imparted 
to  the  water  by  the  sun's  rays  and  the  adjacent  air,  we 
may  form  some  idea  of  the  difficulty  with  which  the  mass 
of  ice  accumulated  at  the  bottom  of  the  river  or  lake 
would  be  dissolved. 


190  Frost  and  Cold, 

But  the  disorder  in  Nature's  economy  and  the  destruc- 
tion of  life  which  would  arise  under  these  circumstances 
have  been  foreseen  and  obviated  by  a  very  simple  and 
perfect  arrangement.  Providence  has  willed  that  the 
densest  point  of  water  shall  be  about  400  Fahrenheit.  Ir 
cooling  down  to  the  temperature  of  400,  therefore,  watei 
follows  the  universal  law,  and  contracts.  But  when  cooled 
beyond  this  point,  until  it  passes  into  ice,  instead  of  con- 
tracting it  expands  and  becomes  lighter  and  lighter. 
Therefore,  as  each  successive  layer  on  the  surface  attains 
a  temperature  of  400,  it  naturally  sinks  to  the  bottom, 
where  it  re?nains,  without  rising  to  the  surface  again  to 
undergo  further  eoo/ing.  After  the  whole  mass  of  the  water 
has  attained  this  temperature,  subsequent  cooling  makes 
it  lighter,  so  that  the  coldest  layer  floats  at  the  top  until  it 
freezes.  The  result  is  a  sheet  of  ice  on  the  surface  with 
a  temperature  not  higher  than  320  Fahrenheit ;  while  there 
is  a  large,  free  body  of  water  underneath  with  a  tempera- 
ture of  about  400.  In  this  temperate  region  the  fishes 
swim  about,  and  with  other  creatures  find  a  secure  and 
genial  refuge. 

The  absolute  perfection  of  this  arrangement  is  com- 
pleted by  another  law  which  now  comes  into  play.  Ice, 
like  water,  is  a  bad  conductor  of  heat,  and  therefore,  of 
cold.  Consequently,  when  a  sheet  of  ice  has  once  formed 
on  the  surface,  it  interposes  a  barrier  which  fences  off  the 
warm  water  below  from  the  outside  rigor  of  the  air.  It 
is  as  truly  a  blanket  to  the  water  in  winter,  as  snow  is  a 
blanket  to  the  ground,  or  as  a  great-coat  is  to  us ;  and  as 
its  thickness  slowly  increases,  its  efficiency  augments  in 
proportion.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  the  sea,  even  in  the 
most  rigorous  polar  climates,  never  freezes  beyond  the 
thickness  of  a  few  feet.  The  temperature  of  the  air  out- 
side may  be  500  or  more  below  zero,  but  the  "slow  con- 
ducting "  power  of  the  blanket  of  ice  defends  the  sea 
underneath  against  the  climatic  rigor.     It  may  be  here 


Ice  and  Snow.  iqi 

remarked  that  sea-water  does  not  follow  the  same  law  in 
cooling  as  fresh-water.  Thus  it  freezes,  according  to  Des- 
pretz,  at  a  temperature  of  nearly  27^°  Fahrenheit,  while 
its  density  increases  regularly  up  to  that  point. 

We  have  seen  that  in  falling  below  400  fresh-water  ex- 
pands, but  if  in  the  act  of  solidifying  it  had  contracted, 
much  of  the  benefit  of  the  arrangement  just  described 
would  have  been  lost.  The  particles  of  ice  as  soon  as 
formed  would  have  sunk  to  the  bottom,  where  they  would 
have  remained  and  been  continually  increased  by  new 
accumulations.  Water  being  "  a  bad  conductor,"  the  heat 
of  the  winter  sun  would  have  reached  the  bottom  with 
difficulty,  while  every  new  touch  of  frost  during  the  cold 
winter  nights  would  have  precipitated  more  ice  to  add  to 
the  deposit  below.  The  intervening  mass  of  water  would 
thus  have  been  placed  between  two  cold  strata,  by  which 
its  heat  would  soon  have  been  exhausted,  and  the  whole 
mass  converted  into  ice.  There  is,  perhaps,  nothing  within 
the  range  of  physical  science  which  more  strikingly  dis- 
plays the  forethought  and  mercy  as  well  as  the  Power  of 
the  Great  Designer  than  the  relations  which  He  has  estab- 
lished between  water  and  heat.  So  long  as  the  result  was 
good,  water  was  made  to  follow  the  general  rule  ;  but  the 
instant  when  the  continuance  of  the  law  would  have  pro- 
duced evil,  He  designedly  reversed  its  operation,  and  thus 
restored  harmony  and  safety  to  the  world. 

The  work  of  "  Frost  and  Cold  "  is  seen  in  its  grandest 
forms  amid  the  mighty  glaciers  —  those  "  silent  cataracts  " 
which  return  the  waters  that  are  above  the  firmament  to 
those  that  are  below  the  firmament  in  rivers  of  solid  crys- 
tal. No  picture  or  description  can  excite  such  emotions 
as  stir  the  mind  of  him  who,  standing  for  the  first  time  on 
the  glacier's  brink,  thoughtfully  surveys  its  rugged  desola- 
tion, and  in  the  midst  of  summer  feels  its  icy  breath  creep- 
ing over  him.  The  giant  crystals  of  creation  are  before 
him  —  a  strange,  unearthly  sea,  with  fantastic,  foamy  waves 


192  Frost  and  Cold. 

stiffened  into  stones,  with  domes  and  pinnacles  and  end* 
less  fanciful  resemblances  of  common  things,  with  chasms 
which  the  eye  cannot  search  or  fathom,  with  caverns  out 
of  whose  darkness  mysterious  streams  steal  forth  into  the 
light.  What  power  is  here  sealed  up  !  Loosen  but  for  a 
moment  the  fetters  that  hold  this  pile  of  waters  together, 
and  try  to  imagine  the  force  with  which  the  valley,  with  its 
green  fields  and  smiling  villages  beyond,  would  be  over- 
whelmed. What  an  emblem  of  desolation  !  Life  hurries 
across,  but  neither  lingers  nor  lives  upon  it.  The  sounds 
that  break  upon  the  ear  are  all  its  own  :  the  trickle  of 
dropping  water  so  clear  and  distinct  amid  the  stillness ;  the 
ringing  click  of  the  unseen  atom  of  ice  falling  down  from 
ledge  to  ledge  in  some  neighboring  crevasse;  the  sharp 
crack  of  some  new  fissure,  drowned  from  time  to  time  in 
the  thunder  of  the  distant  avalanche.  The  silence  that 
reigns  between  these  sounds  is  so  profound  as  to  be  almost 
oppressive. 

Glaciers  are  formed  in  the  highest  valleys  of  the  Alps 
out  of  the  snow  precipitated  directly  from  the  atmosphere 
and  the  avalanches  which  from  time  to  time  crash  down 
the  mountain's  side.  In  summer  the  sun  partially  dis- 
solves the  surface,  and  the  water  in  percolating  through 
the  mass  fills  up  the  interstices  with  ice.  The  enormous 
pressure  to  which  the  glacier  is  subsequently  exposed  as 
its  bulk  increases,  has  a  still  more  powerful  effect  in  con- 
densing and  welding  it  into  compact,  slightly  plastic  ice. 
No  sooner  is  the  glacier  formed  than  it  begins  to  glide 
downward  through  the  valley,  receiving  many  contributions 
by  the  way.  The  motion  of  glaciers  was  long  a  disputed 
point,  but  for  some  time  past  it  has  been  established  be- 
yond all  question.  In  1836  a  Chamounix  guide  fell  into  a 
crevasse  in  the  glacier  of  Tele'fre',  a  feeder  of  the  Mer  de 
Glace,  but  contrived  to  escape,  leaving  his  knapsack  be- 
hind him.  In  1846  the  identical  knapsack  was  yielded  up 
by  the  glacier  4300  feet  below  the  place  where  it  was  lost 


Ice  and  Sitow.  193 

In  an  expedition  to  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc  in  1820 
three  guides  lost  their  lives  by  the  fall  of  an  avalanche, 
which  buried  them  beyond  recovery  in  the  glacier  below. 
Forty  years  passed  by,  and  then  some  relics  of  their  bodies 
came  to  light  on  the  Glacier  des  Bossons,  far  below  the 
point  where  the  accident  occurred.  In  the  course  of  1863 
and  1864  various  other  fragments  were  recovered  ;  and  in 
1864  —  that  is,  44  years  after  the  accident  —  there  was 
found,  projecting  from  a  large  hummock  of  ice,  "  an  entire 
leg  from  the  knee  downward,  in  a  state  of  perfect  preser- 
vation, with  the  nails  on  the  toes  as  perfect  as  those  of  the 
living."  From  certain  marks  it  was  recognized  as  having 
belonged  to  one  of  the  lost  guides.  Many  other  relics 
have  since  been  recovered,  and  it  would  appear  from  a 
carefully  kept  register  that  only  one  leg  and  two  hands  are 
new  missing.  From  the  above  and  other  evidence  there 
can  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  motion  of  those  enormous  masses 
of  ice.  The  force  that  pushes  them  onward  is  chiefly  the 
weight  of  the  accumulation  behind.  The  rate  of  travel- 
ing varies  according  to  the  steepness  of  the  valley  through 
which  they  slide,  the  shape  of  its  bed,  and  the  rocky 
obstacles  that  oppose  their  descent,  but  it  is  computed 
to  be  from  a  few  inches  to  two  or  three  feet  daily.  The 
rising  and  sinking,  the  rending  and  Assuring  of  the  glacier 
give  to  the  surface  its  tempest-tost  appearance.  Under 
favorable  circumstances  it  is  pushed  onward  into  the  culti- 
vated valley  or  the  plain,  where  its  rugged,  uncouth  masses 
stand  out  in  strange  contrast  #to  the  bright  corn-fields  or 
meadows  upon  which  it  has  intruded.  At  the  point  where 
the  melting  power  of  the  sun  balances  the  supply  of  ice 
coming  from  above,  there  the  glacier  ceases  to  advance. 
Round  its  termination  is  found  the  "moraine,"  or  mound 
of  rubbish  formed  of  fragments  of  rocks,  with  sand  and 
mud,  which  have  either  fallen  upon  the  glacier  or  been 
scraped  off  from  the  sides  of  the  valley  in  its  downward 
progress.  When  the  ice  melts  they  are,  of  course,  deposited 
13 


194  Frost  and  Cold. 

on  the  ground.  These  moraines  are  very  characteristic^ 
and  can  be  easily  recognized  even  in  places  from  which  the 
glaciers  themselves  have  long  since  disappeared.  Glaciers 
often  leave  behind  them  other  marks  by  which  their  former 
presence  may  be  safely  inferred.  Thus,  the  enormous 
pressure  of  the  ice  sometimes  scrapes  the  rocks  which  form 
their  bed,  until  the  surface  is  smoothly  polished,  or  grooved 
and  fluted.  The  markings  are  of  course  parallel  to  the 
direction  in  which  the  glacier  moved,  and  they  are  of  so 
peculiar  a  character  that  geologists  can  recognize  them  in 
many  countries  —  as  in  England  and  Scotland  —  where 
glaciers  no  longer  exist.  The  remains  just  mentioned 
reveal  a  period  when  the  condition  of  Europe  was  much 
colder  than  at  present.  The  Jura  Mountains,  for  example, 
are  labelled  all  over  with  moraines  and  markings.  The 
glaciers  are  gone,  but  the  "  boulders,"  or  fragments  of 
rock  they  transported,  are  left  behind ;  and  when  these  are 
examined  they  are  found  to  be  strangers,  having  no  affinity 
with  the  rocks  around,  but  pointing  to  the  distant  Mont 
Blanc,  or  Monte  Rosa,  or  the  Alps  of  Schwytz,  or  the 
Oberland,  as  the  home  from  which  they  originally  came. 
Fractured  roughly  off  from  the  parent  mountain,  many  of 
them  were  carried  tenderly  across  the  intervening  space  by 
the  old  glacier,  and  were  then  so  gently  deposited  in  the 
moraine-bed  that  their  edges  remain  sharp  and  fresh  as 
if  they  had  been  laid  there  yesterday.  Great  though  the 
size  of  those  ancient  glaciers  must  have  been,  they  were 
small  in  comparison  to  the>  mighty  Greenland  glacier  of 
the  present  day. 

By  the  transporting  power  of  ice  the  whole  of  the  vast 
plain  of  Northern  Germany,  Poland,  and  Russia  have 
been  strewn  with  boulders  brought  from  Scandinavian  or 
other  distant  mountains.  As  a  specimen  we  might  refer  to 
the  magnificent  tazza  of  granite,  which  has  been  carved 
out  of  one  of  them  and  placed  in  front  of  the  Museum  at 
Berlin.     The    mountains    of   Scotland,  Cumberland,  and 


Ice  and  Snow.  195 

Wales  abound  with  old  glacier  markings,  and  the  plains 
of  our  island  are  strewn  with  fragments  of  foreign  rocks 
which  were  probably  ice-transported.  It  awakens  curious 
thoughts  to  stand  on  the  top  of  Snowdon,  and  in  imagina- 
tion look  back  to  the  time  when  it  was  a  Welsh  Mont 
Blanc,  piercing  through  its  Mer  de  Glace,  and  launching 
from  its  sides  seven  huge  "  cataracts  of  ice  "  to  fill  the 
neighboring  valleys  where  Llanberis,  Bettws  Garmon,  and 
Beddgelert  now  bloom  in  beauty.  Nowhere  in  Great 
Britain,  and  scarcely  in  any  other  part  of  the  world,  can 
the  traces  of  ancient  glacier  action  be  seen  in  greater  per- 
fection. 

The  icebergs  of  the  ocean  are  means  employed  by  Na- 
ture to  provide  fresh  water  to  compensate  for  the  evapora- 
tion going  on  in  southern  seas,  and  to  temper  the  heat  of 
southern  latitudes.  The  "  cold,"  if  such  an  expression 
may  be  used,  is  locked  up  in  them  as  they  are  formed  in 
polar  regions,  and  it  is  given  out  during  the  process  of 
melting.  Stated  more  correctly,  melting  produces  cold 
by  absorbing  the  heat  around  as  the  ice  is  passing  into 
the  state  of  water.  In  the  district  of  the  Gulf  Stream  the 
cold  of  the  iceberg  is  sometimes  perceived  at  a  distance 
of  40  miles,  and  the  temperature  which  a  few  miles  off 
may  be  6o°,  falls  to  430  or  even  lower  in  the  immediate 
vicinity.  In  the  north  Atlantic,  icebergs  are  seldom  seen 
below  40J  degrees  of  latitude  ;  but  in  the  southern  hemi- 
sphere, where  they  are  much  more  numerous,  they  are 
sometimes  seen  about  latitude  350,  off  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope.  Some  idea  of  their  size  may  be  formed  from  the 
fact  that  they  are  occasionally  two  miles  in  circumference, 
with  a  height  of  200  feet ;  and  it  must  be  borne  in  mind 
that  only  one  seventh  part  of  the  whole  mass  appears 
above  the  water.  Parry  estimated  that  a  single  iceberg 
which  he  saw  aground  in  61  fathoms  must  have  contained 
1  billion  292  million  tons'  weight  of  water.  Sometimes 
the  ocean  is  studded  with  them.    On  one  occasion  Scoresby 


igo  Frost  and  Cold. 

counted  a  fleet  of  500  icebergs  sailing  majestically  toward 
the  south.  Favored  by  wind  and  current  their  speed  is 
equal  to  that  of  a  well-manned  boat.  Fearful  collisions 
sometimes  occur  between  them,  and  pieces  of  wood  have 
been  ignited  by  the  violent  compression  of  the  blow.  Ice- 
bergs carry  a  freight  of  rocks  and  rubbish,  estimated  by 
Scoresby  to  be  in  many  instances  not  less  than  50,000 
tons  in  weight,  which  is  ultimately  deposited  over  the  bed 
of  the  Atlantic,  to  the  south  of  Newfoundland. 

Icebergs  are  born  in  the  remote  polar  regions,  being  the 
offshoots  of  the  huge  glaciers  which  there  cover  up  so 
much  of  the  soil.  The  whole  interior  of  Greenland  is 
filled  by  a  Mer  de  Glace,  which  in  its  enormous  propor- 
tions dwarfs  every  other  sea  of  ice  that  has  as  yet  been  dis- 
covered. It  is  estimated  to  have  a  length  of  1200  miles, 
while  some  of  the  glacier-spurs  proceeding  from  its  flanks 
down  the  valleys  into  the  sea  have  a  breadth  of  60  miles. 
This  stupendous  ice-mass  is  thus  described  by  Kane :  — 
"  Imagine  the  centre  of  this  continent  of  Greenland  oc- 
cupied  through  nearly  its  whole  extent  by  a  deep  unbroken 
sea  of  ice  that  gathers  perennial  increase  from  the  water- 
shed of  vast  snow-covered  mountains,  and  all  the  precipi- 
tation of  the  atmosphere  upon  its  own  surface.  Imagine 
this  moving  onward  like  a  great  glacial  river,  seeking 
outlets  at  every  fiord  and  valley,  rolling  cataracts  into  the 
Atlantic  and  Greenland  seas  ;  and  having  at  last  reached 
the  northern  limit  of  the  land  that  has  borne  it  up,  pour- 
ing out  a  mighty  frozen  torrent  into  unknown  arctic  space." 
In  another  place  it  is  finely  said  that  this  mighty  glacier 
"  seems  to  remind  one  at  once  of  time  and  of  eternity : 
of  time,  since  we  see  portions  of  it  break  off  to  drift  and 
melt  away  ;  and  of  eternity,  since  no  change  is  percepti- 
ble in  its  appearance  from  age  to  age." 

Darwin  describes  icebergs  crashing  into  the  sea  from 
the  precipices  of  Terra  del  Fuego,  and  raising  a  wave 
high  enough  to  swamp  boats  exposed  to  their  influence. 


Ice  and  Snow.  197 

But  the  icebergs  of  northern  polar  regions  are  seldom 
produced  by  the  fall  of  ice-cliffs  ;  on  the  contrary,  they 
are  launched  or  floated  off  from  the  glacier.  The  latter 
pushes  onward  into  the  sea,  plowing  up  occasionally  the 
bottom  on  which  it  rests,  just  as  an  Alpine  glacier  plows 
up  the  plain  ;  and  after  it  has  advanced  to  a  distance 
which  is  often  sufficient  to  submerge  a  large  mass  under 
vvater,  the  huge  fragment  breaks  off,  rises  out  ef  the  sea, 
and  floats  away  as  an  iceberg.  The  great  drift  of  the 
glaciers  in  our  hemisphere  is  down  both  sides  of  Green- 
land. Luckily  for  us  the  strong  current  established  on 
the  west  of  Iceland  then  lays  hold  of  them,  and  carries 
them  toward  the  American  side  of  the  Atlantic.  Had 
their  course  lain  toward  the  British  Isles,  our  climate  and 
our  comfort  would  have  been  materially  affected. 

For  God  is  King  of  all  the  earth :  sing  ye  praises  with  understanding.  — ■ 

Ps.  xlvii. 


POWERS   OF  THE  LORD. 

O  all  ye  Poivers  of  the  Lord,  bless  ye  the  Lord:  praise  Him,  and 
magnify  Him  for  ever. 

|HITHER  can  we  go  from  Thy  presence,"  or  in 
what  direction  can  we  cast  our  eyes  without  per- 
ceiving that  we  are  hedged  in  on  every  side  by 
the  Powers  of  the  Lord  ?  Above,  below,  around  —  in  the 
air,  in  the  water,  on  the  earth  and  under  the  earth  they 
pervade  creation.  At  every  turn  they  reveal  themselves  in 
the  mighty  language  of  physical,  chemical,  and  vital  force, 
bringing  home  to  our  minds  at  every  instant  our  depend- 
ence upon  Him,  and  leading  us  on  to  thankful  adoration. 
The  verses  of  the  Benedicite  may  be  considered  as  a 
summary  of  these  Powers,  and  many  of  them,  therefore, 
will  be  found  noticed  elsewhere  in  this  book.  In  this 
place  we  shall  confine  our  attention  to  a  few  of  the  more 
striking  illustrations  drawn  from  the  familiar  objects 
around  us. 

The  Powers  of  the  Lord  shine  forth  in  the  heavens  — 
in  sun,  moon,  and  stars  —  with  a  grandeur  which  we  can- 
not fully  comprehend,  but  which  nevertheless  elevates  our 
nature  in  the  mere  effort  to  grasp  it.  In  every  meditation 
on  those  Powers  we  find  ourselves  instinctively  turning 
again  and  again  toward  the  sun,  the  great  messenger  of 
the  Lord,  which  brings  to  our  earth  so  much  of  the  force 
and  movement  we  see  continually  displayed  upon  it. 
Under  Providence,  the  sun  stands  forth  as  the  pivot  of 
the  solar  system,  sustaining  and  preserving  by  the  power 
of  gravity  the  planets  that  circle  round  it.     On  earth  the 


Powers  of  the  Lord.  199 

operation  of  the  same  power  is  no  less  necessary  and 
universal.  By  solar  gravity  all  things  are  attracted  toward 
the  centre  of  the  sun,  while  by  terrestrial  gravity  every 
thing  belonging  to  our  globe  is  drawn  toward  the  centre 
of  the  earth.  Terrestrial  gravity,  therefore,  counteracts 
the  centrifugal  tendency  of  objects,  resulting  from  the 
earth's  rotation,  and  keeps  them  fixed  upon  the  surface  * 
with  a  force  of  which  the  amount  is  termed  their  weight. 
Let  us  reflect  how  universally  useful  this  power  is.  It 
holds  every  thing  in  its  place.  It  keeps  one  stone  pressed 
down  upon  another,  and  thus  makes  building  practicable. 
Bodies  that  have  little  gravity,  or  that  are  light,  possess 
little  stability  and  are  readily  tossed  hither  and  thither. 
Our  bones  and  muscles,  and  the  strength  of  plants  and  all 
other  materials,  are  adjusted  to  the  strain  which  gravity 
makes  upon  them.  In  obedience  to  its  laws  the  ship 
floats  upon  the  water,  and  the  balloon  soars  into  the  air. 
It  is  gravity  which  enables  us  to  balance  ourselves  in 
walking,  running,  or  riding.  By  the  adjustment  of  their 
gravity  to  the  medium  in  which  they  are  placed  birds  fly 
and  fishes  swim.  In  short  there  is  no  limit  to  the  con- 
veniences and  benefits  we  derive  from  this  "  Power  of  the 
Lord." 

Another  Power  essential  to  our  well-being  is  Friction, 
which,  in  conjunction  with  gravity,  regulates  physical 
motion.  It  is  the  force  which  opposes  displacement,  which 
keeps  things  steady,  and  finally  brings  them,  if  in  motion, 
to  a  state  of  rest.  With  eveiy  kind  of  movement  some 
frictional  opposition  will  always  be  found  at  work  tending 
to  stop  its  continuance.  It  may  be  the  rough  surface  of 
the  ground,  or  the  comparatively  unresisting  water,  or  the 
still  softer  air,  but  each  with  varying  degrees  of  frictional 
energy  ultimately  subdues  the  moving  force,  and  sets  the 
body  at  rest.  Many  are  the  attempts  ingenious  man  has 
made  to  overcome  this  difficulty,  but  his  search  after  "  per- 
petual motion "   is  ever  baffled  by  omnipresent  friction, 


200  Powers  of  the  Lord. 

and  his  greatest  success  is  measured  only  by  the  gain 
implied  in  substituting  a  friction  that  is  less  for  one  that 
was  more.  Thus  we  oil  axles  and  hinges,  to  diminish  the 
rubbing  opposition.  Thus  wheels  were  invented  to  escape 
in  some  degree  from  friction  by  rolling  over  the  rough 
ground  instead  of  scraping  over  it.  Thus,  also,  by  gradual 
improvement  rude  tracks  were  changed  into  smooth, 
macadamized  roads,  and  these  last  in  their  turn  are  yield- 
ing to  the  even  rail.  Every  new  success  has  been  merely 
the  lessening  of  friction. 

In  these  and  in  many  other  ways  friction  may  be  said 
only  to  create  difficulties  which  man's  ingenuity  enables 
him  to  overcome  with  more  or  less  success ;  but,  as  a  set- 
off against  these  evils,  let  us  for  a  moment  try  to  realize 
what  would  have  happened  if  there  had  been  no  such 
Power  in  existence.  When  a  surface  offers  little  friction 
we  call  it  slippery  ;  and  ice,  though  offering  resistance 
sufficient  to  bring  a  skater  or  a  stone  gradually  to  rest,  is 
yet  remarkable  for  the  comparative  absence  of  friction. 
What  occurs  ?  In  venturing  upon  it  most  persons  find 
their  movements  difficult  even  when  the  surface  is  level, 
but  they  find  it  impossible  to  stand  when  ice  is  upon  the 
slope.  Now  if  there  were  no  such  thing  as  friction,  land 
would  be  no  longer  terra  firma,  but  would  be  as  slippery 
as  ice.  Without  mechanical  support  it  would  have  been 
impossible  to  ascend  a  hill.  Horses  could  not  have  kept 
their  feet  against  a  strain ;  every  thing  we  handled  would 
have  slipped  through  our  fingers  with  eel-like  glibness. 
Quiescence  and  steadiness  would  have  been  banished  from 
the  world,  and  objects  once  set  in  motion  would  have 
gone  on  without  stopping  until  brought  up  by  some  equal 
opposing  force.  Thus  it  may  be  perceived  that  the  fric- 
tion of  matter  assists  us  in  almost  every  act  we  perform  ; 
and,  without  its  aid,  the  innumerable  purposed  movements 
of  every-day  life  would  have  been  impossible  in  the 
general  confusion  of  the  world.     "  Without  this  property/ 


Powers  of  the  Lord.  20 1 

says  Dr.  Whewell,  "  apartments,  if  they  kept  their  shape, 
would  exhibit  .to  us  articles  of  furniture  and  of  all  other 
kinds  sliding  and  creeping  from  side  to  side  at  every  push 
and  at  every  wind,  like  loose  objects  in  a  ship's  cabin, 
when  she  is  changing  her  course  in  a  gale." 

Seeing  that  the  frictional  power  of  the  atmosphere  is 
sufficient  to  bring  all  things  exposed  to  it  to  rest,  some 
may  be  inclined  to  ask  why  the  heavenly  bodies  do  not 
gradually  move  more  slowly  and  ultimately  stop  ?  Long 
continued  observation  proves  either  that  the  orbital  course 
of  the  heavenly  bodies  lies  in  a  vacuum  where  friction 
does  not  exist,  or  that  it  takes  place  in  a  medium  so  at- 
tenuated that  the  frictional  resistance  practically  amounts 
to  nothing.  All  astronomers  agree  that  the  friction  must 
in  any  case  be  extremely  minute.  "  If,"  says  Whewell, 
"  Jupiter  were  to  lose  one  millionth  of  his  velocity  in  a 
million  of  years  (which  is  far  more  than  can  be  considered 
in  any  way  probable),  he  would  require  seventy  millions  of 
years  to  lose  i-ioooth  of  his  velocity  ;  and  a  period  seven 
hundred  times  as  long  to  reduce  the  velocity  to  one  half." 

In  sauntering  among  the  scenes  of  this  solidly  planted 
world,  how  few  there  are  who  ever  bestow  a  thought  upon 
the  Powers  enchained  within  it.  Yet  our  daily  life  is 
spent  over  an  abyss,  and  comparatively  a  mere  shell  is 
all  that  is  interposed  between  us  and  destruction.  As  the 
crust  of  the  earth  is  explored  the  temperature  is  found  to 
increase  about  a  hundred  degrees  for  every  mile  of  depth  ; 
and  consequently,  if  this  ratio  be  maintained,  thirty  or 
forty  miles  beneath  our  feet  there  is  a  temperature  so  in- 
tense that  most  substances  with  which  we  are  acquainted 
must  exist  in  a  state  of  fusion.  Great  though  this  depth 
may  at  first  sight  appear,  it  is  only  a  hundredth  part  of 
the  space  interposed  between  us  and  the  earth's  centre  : 
and,  if  we  were  to  imagine  the  globe  represented  by  an 
egg,  the  shell  would  be  comparatively  much  thicker  than 
the  thin  layer  which  forms  its  crust.     Far  down  in  the 


202  Powers  of  the  Lord. 

mysterious  caverns  of  this  crust,  the  molten  rocks,  the  in- 
candescent  vapors,    and    bursting   gases,    heated   by  the 
internal  furnace,  are  ever  battling:  together  and  struo-srlino" 
with  inconceivable  force  to  rend  their  prison  walls.    Some- 
times we  hear  with  awe  the  distant  thunder  of  the   con- 
flict, and  sometimes  the  foundations  of  the   earth  itself 
are  shaken  or  torn  asunder.     Those  are  the  regions  where 
fierce  chaos  is  mercifully  held  down  by  the  weights  which 
God   has   heaped  upon  it;  but,    be   it   remembered,  the 
Power  is  there,  and  is  ready,  if  the  word  be  spoken,  to 
burst  forth  and  in  an  instant  submerge  this  fair  world  in 
molten  fire,  and  change  it  into  a  ruin.     In  this  internal 
crucible  were  compounded  in  olden  time  the  granites,  the 
porphyries,    and  the    basalts  which    subsequently   forced 
their  way  roughly  through  overlying  strata,   and   consol- 
idated themselves,   lava-like,   into  rocks   and   mountains. 
The  convulsions  of  the  early  world  must  have  been  truly 
awful,  for  in  every  country  the  rocky  layers  bear  testimony 
to  the  violence  then  sustained.     Many  of  the  strata  havo 
been  started  from  the  bed  on  which  they  had  been  gently 
and  evenly  deposited  as  a  sediment,  and  have  been  cracked, 
splintered,  or  tilted  over  in  all  directions.     Sometimes  the 
fiery  giant,  unable  to  burst  completely  through,  has  lifted 
and  strained   the  brittle  strata  over  him  until   they  rose 
into  ridges,  or,  by  causing  partial  upheavals  and  subsi- 
dences, has  produced  those  dislocations  or  "  faults  "  which 
are  now  so  perplexing  to  the  miner.     Nor  are  the  marks 
of  heat  less  evident  than  those  of  the  violence  which  at- 
tended it.     Sometimes   the   soft   sandstone   touching  the 
fiery  stream  has  been  fused  into  quartz,  or  indurated  into 
a  flinty  hardness  which  shades  off  into  the  natural  texture 
of  the  rock  as  it  recedes  from  the  point  of  contact.     Occa- 
sionally the  glowing  stream  baked  the  contiguous  clay  into 
coarse  porcelain.     The  chalk  and  the  limestone,  instead 
of  being  changed  into  quick-lime,  as  would  have  happened 
had  they  been  calcined  in  the  open  air,  have  been  indu- 


Powers  of  the  Lord.  203 

rated  and  sometimes  fused  into  crystalline  marble,  such 
as  is  quarried  at  Carrara,  from  their  having  been  heated 
under  the  pressure  of  superjacent  strata.  Owing  to  the 
same  cause  shales  are  found  occasionally  converted  into 
hard,  porcellaneous  jasper,  while  seams  of  coal  are  coked 
or  charred  to  a  varying  distance  around. 

Although  internal  igneous  action  has  happily  been  now 
restrained  within  moderate  bounds,  yet  have  we  sure  proof 
in  the  volcano  and  earthquake  that  subterranean  fires  do 
still  possess  much  of  their  ancient  fury.  At  never-distant 
intervals  Vesuvius,  ^Etna,  and  Hecla  heave  up  their  molten 
lavas  out  of  depths  that  lie  beyond  our  power  to  explore ; 
and  during  the  spring  of  this  year,  1866,  a  volcano  has 
been  cast  up  in  the  harbor  of  Santorin.  The  great  centres 
of  volcanic  action,  however,  are  now  to  be  found  in  South 
and  Central  America,  along  the  line  of  the  Ancles,  and  in 
the  nearest  islands  of  the  Pacific.  In  one  of  the  Sand- 
wich Islands,  for  example,  there  is  a  crater  nine  miles  in 
circumference,  and  1200  feet  deep,  in  which  a  broad  sea  of 
molten  lava  surges  and  splutters.  The  caldron,  however, 
never  boils  over.  Apparently  the  pressure  occasionally 
forces  an  opening  in  its  side  through  which  the  lava  runs, 
as  through  a  spout,  down  into  the  ocean,  where  it  quickly 
consolidates  and  tends  gradually  to  enlarge  the  area  of 
the  island. 

Sometimes  the  internal  force,  instead  of  assuming  the 
fitful  violence  of  the  volcano  or  earthquake,  operates  with 
regularity,  as  if  through  the  expansion  or  contraction  of 
large  masses  of  heated  matter,  by  which  the  surface-land 
is  slowly  upheaved  in  some  places  and  lowered  in  others. 
It  is  remarkable  that  in  all  such  cases,  the  only  trustwor- 
thy standard  of  measurement  is  the  sea,  which,  in  regard 
to  permanent  level,  is  far  more  stable  than  the  land.  The 
more  this  subject  is  inquired  into,  the  more  common  are 
such  movements  proved  to  be  ;  and  it  is,  perhaps,  not  too 
much  to  say  that  there  are  probably  few  regions  in  the 


204  Powers  of  the  Lord. 

world  which  are  absolutely  stationary.  ,  The  southern 
shores  of  the  Firth  of  Forth  are  rising  at  a  rate  which  al- 
lows a  sensible  difference  in  their  shape  to  be  noted  in  the 
course  of  a  single  generation.  Southern  Sweden  and 
Norway  are  sinking,  while  their  northern  end  is  rising. 
On  the  shores  of  the  Bay  of  Baioe  the  columns  of  the 
ruined  temple  of  Jupiter  Serapis  are  seen  oddly  planted  in 
the  sea.  The  base  is  covered  with  the  water.  They  were 
originally  built  on  dry  ground  ;  then  they  were  gradually 
lowered  so  as  to  dip  into  the  sea;  after  the  volcanic  turmoil 
of  1538,  they  were  again  elevated  out  of  it.  In  1819  the 
floor  was  six  inches  above  the  sea-level  ;  in  1845  it  was 
eighteen  inches  below  it  at  low  water.  And  it  still  contin- 
ues to  subside  in  consequence  probably  of  the  shrinking 
of  the  strata  beneath  from  loss  of  heat. 

The  connection  between  volcanoes,  earthquakes,  and 
the  upheaval  or  subsidence  of  tracts  of  land  is  most  clearly 
exhibited  in  those  countries  where  the  evidence  of  the  ac- 
tion of  subterranean  fire  is  displayed  with  greatest  inten- 
sity. Along  the  line  of  the  Andes,  more  particularly,  these 
phenomena  go  hand  in  hand  together.  On  the  20th  Feb- 
ruary, 1835,  an  earthquake,  which  has  been  graphically 
described  by  Darwin,  occurred  at  Concepcion.  The  city 
itself  was  shaken  into  ruins,  together  with  70  neighboring 
villages.  One  of  the  most  singular  and  fearful  evidences 
of  the  "  Power "  at  work  was  the  rising  of  a  wave  or 
mountain  of  water,  23  feet  higher  than  spring-tides,  which 
rolled  in  from  the  Pacific  and  broke  with  fury  on  the  town, 
surging  and  swirling  along  its  streets,  and  drowning  many 
inhabitants  and  cattle.  The  adjoining  country  was  strewn 
with  the  debris  of  what  a  few  minutes  before  had  been  a 
noble  town.  A  heavy  gun,  4  tons  in  weight,  was  lifted  1 5 
feet  from  its  position.  One  ship  was  deposited  high  and 
dry  200  yards  from  the  beach.  Some  ships  riding  in  36 
feet  water  were  for  a'  few  minutes  aground  ;  another  ship 
Was  knocked  about  like  a  shuttlecock,  having  been  twice 


Powers  of  the  Lord.  205 

lifted  on  to  the  shore  and  twice  replaced  again  in  deep 
water. 

The  connection  between  this  earthquake  and  subterra- 
nean fire  was  made  abundantly  clear  from  attendant  cir- 
cumstances. On  the  same  20th  February  the  island  of 
Juan  Fernandez,  360  miles  northwest  of  Concepcion,  was 
violently  shaken  by  an  earthquake,  and  "  a  volcano  burst 
out  under  the  water  close  to  the  shore."  Moreover,  in  the 
Andes  behind  Chiloe,  340  miles  south  of  Concepcion,  two 
volcanoes  suddenly  broke  at  the  same  instant  into  violent 
action.  Thus  the  subterranean  struggle  raged  along  a  line 
of  at  least  five  hundred  miles,  at  either  end  of  which  its 
violence  culminated  in  volcanoes.  Over  large  districts 
where  the  imprisoning  walls  of  rock  were  not  absolutely 
broken  through,  they  were  yet  forced  to  yield  to  a  certain 
extent  before  the  expansive  efforts  of  the  subterranean  fire, 
and  were  lifted  up  above  their  former  level,  as  if  upon  the 
back  of  some  mighty  monster.  The  amount  of  elevation 
of  the  shore  round  the  bay  was  three  feet,  and  at  the  isl- 
and of  St.  Maria,  30  miles  off,  Captain  Fitzroy  subse- 
quently found  beds  of  putrid  mussel  shells  still  adhering 
to  the  rocks  at  a  height  of  1  o  feet  above  high-water  mark. 
"  For  these  very  shells,"  says  Darwin,  "  the  inhabitants 
had  been  previously  in  the  habit  of  diving  at  low-water 
spring-tides."  In  many  places  the  hills  in  that  volcanic 
country  are  strewn  with  sea-shells  to  a  height  of  a  thou- 
sand feet,  a  circumstance  probably  due  to  the  upheavals 
to  which  the  coast  has  at  various  times  been  subject. 

Even  in  our  own  quiet  islands  we  are  every  now  and 
then  reminded  that  they  by  no  means  lie  beyond  the  reach 
of  these  fearful  "  Powers  of  the  Lord."  On  two  occasions 
recently  the  shocks  of  earthquakes  have  been  felt  in  Eng- 
land, and  almost  every  year  it  happens  that  volcanic  dis- 
turbance in  the  south  of  Europe  causes  responsive  throb- 
bings  among  the  Perthshire  Hills. 

Chemical  force  is  another  "  Power  of  the  Lord  "  from 


206  Powers  of  the  Lord. 

which  this  verse  of  the  Benedicite  receives  some  of  its 
most  striking  illustrations.  Many  of  the  greatest  workings 
of  Nature  are  chemical  processes.  It  is  by  virtue  of  this 
power  that  digestion  and  fermentation  are  accomplished, 
and  that  those  preliminary  steps  are  taken  in  the  seed  by 
which  germination  is  promoted.  To  it  we  owe  the  tints 
of  red  and  yellow  which  paint  the  leaves  in  autumn.  By 
the  aid  of  carbonic  acid,  abstracted  from  air  or  soil,  water 
carries  off  into  the  sea  the  lime  which,  after  having  been 
built  into  shells  for  living  animals,  is  ultimately  to  be  laid 
down  to  form  new  strata.  To  the  energy  of  chemical  force 
we  owe  combustion,  which,  by  producing  "  Fire  and  Heat," 
ministers  in  so  many  ways  to  our  happiness.  To  man 
himself  Providence  has  vouchsafed  to  impart  a  certain 
knowledge  of  this  Power,  which  he  wields  to  his  infinite 
profit  and  advantage.  But,  in  the  vast  domain  of  chemis- 
try, when  the  known  is  contrasted  with  the  unknown,  man 
will  for  long  ages  to  come  continue  to  resemble  the  little 
child  wandering  on  the  sea-shore  and  "  picking  up  now 
and  then  a  pretty  pebble,  while  the  great  ocean  of  truth 
lies  undiscovered  before  it." 

It  has  been  finely  observed  that  chemistry  confers  a  kind 
of  creative  power  upon  man,  by  which  he  produces  many 
substances  which  have  no  independent  existence,  and 
decrees  at  will  unions  and  separations  among  the  passive 
objects  around  him.  There  is  scarcely  a  domestic  opera- 
tion or  a  manufacture  in  which  the  energies  of  chemistry 
are  not  turned  to  account.  Nearly  all  the  metals,  for  ex- 
ample, are  presented  to  us  by  Nature  in  a  crude  state,  and 
the  power  through  whose  intrumentality  they  are  obtained 
in  purity  is  chemical  action.  Many  of  the  most  servicea- 
ble substances  we  employ  in  daily  life  are  the  products  of 
the  same  force  —  set  in  motion  and  gaided  by  our  skill. 
To  chemistry  we  are  indebted  for  the  perfection  of  our 
sugars,  soaps,  candles,  leathers,  dyes,  medicines,  paper,  and 
glass  ;  and  the  list  might  be  extended  so  as  to  include 
nearly  every  manufactured  article  in  use. 


Powers  of  the  Lord.  207 

Chemistry  is  the  science  of  experimental  surprises,  and 
its  transmutations,  while  they  transcend  imagination,  afford 
evidence  of  the  wonderful  power  of  which  they  are  the 
effects.  Thus,  the  most  inert  substances  often  produce  by 
combination  a  compound  of  the  greatest  energy.  "  Nitro- 
gen and  hydrogen,"  Brande  and  Taylor  observe,  "  are  two 
comparatively  inert  gases,  while  carbon  is  an  innoxious 
solid.  The  combination  of  these  three  elements  produces 
a  highly  poisonous  liquid  —  Prussic  acid.  Hydrogen  has 
no  smell,  and  sulphur  only  a  slight  smell  on  friction  ;  when 
combined  these  bodies  produce  a  most  offensively  smelling 
gas  —  sulphide  of  hydrogen.  Carbon,  oxygen,  hydrogen, 
and  nitrogen  are  innoxious  agents,  and  have  no  taste  ;  but 
when  combined  in  certain  proportions  they  form  strychnia, 
remarkable  for  its  intensely  bitter  taste,  and  highly  poison- 
ous qualities."  Sometimes  the  most  worthless  substances, 
under  the  magic  touch  of  chemistry,  cast  off  their  com- 
monness and  become  things  of  value  and  beauty.  Who, 
for  example,  could  have  anticipated  that  matters  so  dull 
and  common  as  sand  and  the  ash  of  a  wood  fire  should 
under  certain  circumstances  unite  to  form  bright,  trans- 
parent glass  ?  What  feat  can  be  conceived  more  wonder- 
ful than  from  a  substance  so  dingy,  dirty,  and  unpromis- 
ing as  coal-tar,  to  create  the  beautiful  series  of  aniline 
colors  which  we  admire  as  mauve,  Magenta,  Solferino,  and 
Bleu  de  Paris.  To  such  perfection,  indeed,  has  chemistry 
now  carried  this  branch  of  manufacture  that  there  is  hardly 
any  tint  which  many  not  be  obtained  from  coal-tar  by  skill- 
ful treatment.  Chemistry  is  a  wonderful  economist  of 
Nature's  means,  and  never  shows  itself  to  more  advantage 
than  when  it  takes  in  hand  and  turns  to  account  the  frag- 
ments that  would  otherwise  be  lost.  As  the  highest  praise 
that  could  be  offered,  it  may  now  almost  literally  be  said 
that  chemists  have  of  late  years  expunged  the  word  "rub- 
bish "  from  the  dictionary,  as  well  as  "  waste  "  from  the 
workshop. 


2o8  Powers  of  the  Lord. 

The  vegetable  kingdom,  although  it  consist  of  a  great 
variety  of  forms,  tissues,  and  products,  is  essentially  built 
up  out  of  a  very  few  ultimate  elements.  Whole  classes  of 
products  consist  merely  of  carbon  and  hydrogen  ;  and,  as 
a  general  rule,  only  three  principal  constituents  are  found 
in  plants  —  carbon,  hydrogen,  and  oxygen  —  to  which  a 
small  quantity  of  nitrogen  is  sometimes  added.  Thus 
there  is  often  a  remarkable  similarity,  and  sometimes  even 
an  identity  of  composition,  between  substances  in  common 
use  which  differ  widely  in  their  properties.  Sugar  and 
gam,  for  instance,  consist  exactly  of  an  equal  number  of 
atoms  of  the  same  elements  —  carbon,  hydrogen,  and  oxy- 
gen ;  while  starch  and  cellulose,  the  base  of  wood,  are 
most  closely  allied.  In  the  same  manner  whole  classes  of 
vegetable  substances,  presenting  a  similarity  in  their 
atomic  composition,  are,  nevertheless,  possessed  of  very 
different  properties,  of  which  oil  of  turpentine  and  oil  of 
lemons  may  be  adduced  as  examples.  Differences  in  the 
properties  of  many  vegetable  substances,  therefore,  appear 
to  depend  not  only  on  the  nature  of  the  ultimate  atoms 
of  which  they  are  composed,  but  also  on  the  peculiar  way 
in  which  these  atoms  are  arranged.  The  idea  naturally 
suggests  itself  that  this  remarkable  system  of  similarity  in 

SS  r    i 

composition  must  be  intended  to  subserve  some  useful 
purpose  ;  and,  perhaps,  the  opinion  might  be  hazarded  that 
it  is  not  without  relation  to  the  eventual  increase  of  the 
world's  food-supplies  by  chemical  means. 

Seeing  that  many  vegetable  substances  are  identical,  or 
nearly  allied  in  composition,  it  scarcely  appears  surprising 
that  chemistry  should  have  already  demonstrated  the  con- 
vertibility of  some  into  others.  Thus  gum  and  starch  are 
changed  into  sugar  by  the  action  of  sulphuric  acid.  Much 
sugar  is  now  manufactured  in  France  from  potato-starch 
and  sago.  Sugar  acted  on  by  nitric  acid  is  changed  into 
oxalic  acid  ;  so  is  sawdust  when  treated  by  potash.  The 
common,  woody  fibre  of   plants,  freed  from   impurity,  is 


Powers  of  the  Lord.  209 

convertible  by  sulphuric  acid,  first,  into  a,  substance  like 
starch,  and  then  into  gum  and  sugar.  Thus  the  proposi- 
tion, that  in  times  of  scarcity  some  ligneous  matter  in  the 
shape  of  fine  wood-powder  should  be  added  to  bread  to 
eke  out  the  supply  of  flour,  does  not  appear  so  very  extrav- 
agant ;  and,  indeed,  in  Sweden  and  Norway  the  inner 
bark  of  the  pine  is  often  used  for  the  purpose.  The 
stomach,  in  its  own  work  of  digestion,  possesses  ways  and 
means  of  operation  with  which  we  are  unacquainted.  We 
know  that  the  elephant  in  his  native  forests  mashes  up 
with  its  food  a  considerable  quantity  of  woody  fibre,  and 
that  it  has  been  provided  by  Nature  with  powerful  ma- 
chinery for  the  purpose.  Few  branches  of  chemistry  are 
making  more  rapid  strides  than  the  one  we  have  been 
noticing,  and,  in  the  words  of  Brande  and  Taylor,  "  there 
is  scarcely  a  limit  to  the  power  of  transforming  one  organic 
substance  into  another." 

Considering,  then,  on  the  one  hand,  the  identity,  or  at 
least  the  similarity,  of  composition  ;  and,  on  the  other,  the 
proved  facility  of  transmutation  in  may  cases  ;  consider- 
ing, too,  that  this  includes  the  possibility  of  converting 
one  vegetable  substance  that  is  abundant,  but  of  compara- 
tively little  use,  into  another  which  might  be  eaten  as 
nourishment,  it  is  evident  that  there  is  here  involved  a 
principle  which  may  yet  prove  to  be  of  the  highest  impor- 
tance to  man.  It  seems  no  extravagance  to  believe  that  in 
the  few  facts  just  mentioned  there  are  resources  indicated 
which  may  yet  be  largely  drawn  upon  before  the  world  has 
run  its  course.  Chemical  power  is  merely  beginning  to 
be  developed  in  this  direction,  it  can  be  exerted  over  a 
very  few  substances  only,  and  the  processes  hitherto  dis- 
covered are  often  imperfect  and  costly  ;  but  the  time  may 
come  when  these  will  be  cheaper,  better  understood,  and 
applicable  to  a  variety  of  common  vegetable  products. 
Thus,  perhaps,  we  may  humbly  yet  confidently  believe 
that  if,  from  the  enormous  increase  of  the  world's  popula- 
14 


210  Poivers  of  the  Lord. 

tion,  the  necessity  for  augmenting  the  old  sources  of  food- 
supply  should  ever  become  urgent,  God  will  inspire  his 
children  with  the  means  of  unlocking  those  latent  stores, 
and  of  turning  them  to  account ;  for  chemical  force  is 
eminently  a  Power  of  the  Lord,  to  whose  conquests  no 
limit  can  be   assigned. 

Having  drawn  some  illustrations  of  the  "  Powers  of  the 
Lord "  from  the  domain  of  physics  and  chemistry,  we 
would  now  invite  attention  to  some  examples  taken  from 
that  other  field  of  Nature,  in  which  vitality  works  with  a 
force  even  more  wonderful  and  mysterious. 

Ii  is  no  part  of  the  object  of  this  book  to  enter  into  any 
discussion  of  what  is  termed  the  correlation  of  the  great 
natural  forces,  or  to  inquire  how  far  these  are  in  reality 
only  different  manifestations  of  the  same  Power.  In  time 
this  question,  like  many  others  that  have  perplexed  man- 
kind, will  be  sifted  until  the  truth  becomes  apparent ;  but, 
in  the  mean  time,  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  argu- 
ment is  pushed  too  far  when  the  principle  of  life  is  reduced 
to  nothing  more  than  a  mode  of  physical  or  chemical 
action,  or  a  mere  manifestation  of  motion  or  of  heat. 
Analogies  may  exist  which  seem  to  level  the  barriers 
between  them,  but  it  seems  to  us  that,  notwithstanding  all 
that  has  been  hitherto  alleged,  the  presumption  is  in  favor 
of  the  opinion  that  life  is  something  apart  and  essentially 
different  from  all  other  kinds  of  force.  God  has  willed 
that  we  should,  to  a  certain  extent,  fathom  the  depths  both 
of  physical  and  chemical  force,  and  for  reasons  obviously 
connected  with  our  welfare  many  of  their  secrets  have  been 
committed  to  our  hands,  so  that  we  can  wield  and  direct 
them.  But  the  living  principle  is  a  power  which,  for  the 
wisest  purposes,  He  appears  to  have  reserved  solely  to 
Himself.  That  is  delegated  to  none.  From  Him  alone 
are  "  the  issues  of  life."  Every  effort  to  penetrate  into  the 
mysterious  temple  of  life  that  we  may  lay  bare  its  principle 
has  utterly  failed,  and  the  greatest  philosopher  approaches 


Powers  of  the  Lord.  211 

no  nearer  than  the  crowd.  We  know  not  where  to  seize 
the  principle  of  vitality,  or  what  to  look  for ;  and  we  un- 
derstand nothing  more  of  its  essence  now  than  was  known 
a  thousand  years  ago.  Under  these  circumstances  we  must 
believe  that  God  does  not  intend  we  should  comprehend 
or  in  any  way  become  masters  of  that  mystery  ;  and,  if  this 
be  the  case,  we  may  rest  assured  that,  as  He  has  meted 
out  to  us  our  faculties  according  to  the  work  He  intended 
them  to  accomplish,  there  is  no  likelihood  of  our  ever  be- 
ing able  to  penetrate  a  secret  over  which  He  has  thrown 
an  impenetrable  veil. 

In  reflecting  on  some  of  the  grand  operations  of  Nature 
one  is  surprised  to  find  that  they  are  often  accomplished 
not  only  silently  and  invisibly,  but  by  agents  which  at  first 
sight  seem  strangely  out  of  proportion  to  the  magnitude  of 
the  task  on  hand.  Thus  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  animal 
kingdom  there  are  workmen  busily  engaged  day  and  night 
in  the  service  of  Providence,  in  numbers  which,  like  the 
stars,  baffle  computation.  No  one  even  dreamt  of  their 
existence  until  about  200  years  ago,  when  Leeuwenhoek, 
a  Dutch  philosopher,  discovered  them  with  his  newly  in- 
vented microscope,  and  exhibited  them  to  an  astonished 
and  incredulous  world.  Yet  in  these  animalcules  —  so 
minute  as  to  be  invisible  to  unaided  vision  —  is  to  be  rec- 
ognized one  of  the  "  Powers  of  the  Lord  !  "  As  we  take 
our  first  glance  at  the  little  creatures  careering  over  the 
field  of  the  microscope,  it  seems  as  if  a  new  world  has 
been  opened  out  to  us  ;  nor  is  the  expression  extravagant 
when  we  call  to  mind  that  this  is  a  corner  of  Nature  into 
which  few  ever  turn  their  eyes,  and  that  the  forms  of  life 
seen  here  are  altogether  unlike  those  with  which  we  were 
previously  familiar.  Our  first  emotion  is  astonishment ; 
our  next,  curiosity  ;  and  we  wonder  what  purpose  in  the 
economy  of  Nature  can  be  served  by  creatures  so  small 
and  insignificant. 

But  before  noticing  their  operations  more  fully,  it  is  right 


212  Powers  of  the  Lord. 

that  we  should  become  better  acquainted  with  the  work- 
men themselves.  If  we  desire  to  find  them,  it  is  more 
difficult  to  say  where  they  are  not  than  where  they  are. 
They  abound  in  sea  and  river,  pond  and  puddle.  Wherever 
an  organized  atom  can  swim  —  and  the  minutest  drop  of 
water  is  an  ocean  to  thousands  —  there  they  are  often  to 
be  found.  If  a  few  shreds  of  meat,  or  blades  of  grass, 
or  stalks  of  a  bouquet  be  placed  in  water  in  a  glass,  in- 
fusorial animalcules  will  be  found  to  swarm  in  it  after  a 
few  days.  The  population  of  this  minute  world  varies 
much  under  different  circumstances  ;  but  a  great  observer 
in  this  department,  Ehrenberg,  tells  us  that,  in  a  single 
drop  of  an  infusion  he  examined,  there  were  probably  no 
fewer  than  500  millions  of  independent  individuals  !  The 
spectacle  of  miniature  bustle  disclosed  in  one  such  drop 
surpasses  imagination.  The  atoms  dart  forward  and 
backward  and  sideways  with  most  perfect  movement  ; 
some  shiver  or  shake  ;  others  spend  their  time  in  wheeling 
round  and  round  like  dancing  dervises.  Many  show  a 
graver  temperament,  and  stalk  across  the  "  field  "  in  a 
style  which  by  comparison  we  must  call  majestic.  Yet  it 
will  be  observed  that  there  is  order  in  all  these  movements. 
Though  "  fidgeting  about "  in  a  way  that  realizes  the  idea 
of  perfect  restlessness,  they  seldom  jostle  each  other  j  and 
they  twist  in  and  out,  avoiding  the  rocks  raised  up  by 
minute  particles  of  dust  with  as  much  precision  as  if  they 
always  maintained  the  keenest  "  lookout."  Occasionally 
one  sees  in  their  movements  something  that  recalls  the 
hunting  of  well-bred  clogs  in  search  of  game". 

Infusoria  assume  an  endless  variety  of  shapes.  One  of 
the  simplest  among  them,  the  slow-moving  Amoeba  dif- 
fluens,  may  be  compared  to  an  atom  of  transparent  jelly ; 
but  it  is  so  often  changing  its  outline  by  its  contractions 
and  protrusions  that,  except  when  it  is  shrunk  together 
into  a  roundish  dot,  it  can  scarcely  be  described  as  having 
one   special   form   more  than  another.     There  is  neither 


Powers  of  the  Lord.  213 

mouth  nor  stomach ;  but  when  a  particle  of  food  touches 
its  sensitive  surface,  it  is  soon  included  or  overlapped  by  a 
fold  of  its  "  diffluent "  body,  and  in  the  hollow  thus  made 
the  food  is  digested  and  disappears  just  as  if  it  were  in  a 
real  stomach.  Or  the  particle  is  thrust  by  the  inverted 
fold  into  the  yielding  substance  of  the  body,  like  a  pea  into 
a  lump  of  paste,  and  it  is  made  to  move  slowly  through 
the  body  by  means  of  forcible  contractions  until  it  is  finally 
absorbed  as  nourishment.  Another  animalcule,  Actino- 
phrys  sol,  has  flexible  tentacles,  like  rootlets,  streaming 
from  its  round  body  in  a  way  which,  as  the  name  implies, 
reminds  one  of  the  rays  of  the  sun  in  a  picture.  With 
these  he  seizes  his  prey  and  slowly  thrusts  it  against  some 
part  of  his  surface,  which,  by  first  yielding  and  then  closing 
over  it,  improvises  a  stomach  for  the  occasion.  After  the 
nourishment  is  extracted  the  refuse  is  thrown  out,  and  the 
little  glutton  again  stretches  out  his  arms  in  search  of  food. 
These  infusorial  animalcules  are  for  the  most  part  very 
voracious,  and  sometimes  gorge  themselves  until  from  dis- 
tortion they  can  scarcely  be  recognized.  Who  can  set 
bounds  to  Nature's  fertility  in  expedients  ?  In  the  higher 
classes  of  animals  we  are  accustomed  to  see  certain  parts 
of  the  body  "  specialized  "  into  particular  organs,  whose 
functions  are  limited  to  one  particular  purpose ;  but  on  the 
lower  steps  of  the  ladder  we  see  many  purposes  accom- 
plished by  one  single  means.  Thus  a  little  dot  of  living 
jelly  moves  without  muscles,  enjoys  the  light  of  the  sun, 
and  sees  without  eyes,  feels  without  nerves,  digests  without 
a  stomach,  and  circulates  its  nutriment  without  the  vestige 
of  a  vessel  ! 

We  can  merely  touch  upon  this  fascinating  branch  of 
Natural  History,  for  it  would  take  more  space  than  can 
here  be  given  to  describe,  even  in  the  most  cursory  way, 
the  various  groups  of  animalcules  associated  together  for 
the  work  we  are  now  about  to  describe.  Many  of  these 
are  much  higher  in  the  scale  of  organization  than  the  two 


214  Powers  of  the  Lord, 

mentioned  :  —  thus  the  curiously  beautiful  wheel-animal- 
cules belong  to  the  Rotifera,  and  other  nondescript  look- 
ing creatures  belong  to  the  same  natural  group  as  oui 
lobsters.  But,  in  their  general  habits  and  functions  they 
resemble  the  infusoria,  with  which  many  of  them  were  for- 
merly classified. 

When  we  consider  the  magnitude  and  utility  of  the  work 
performed  by  these  animated  atoms,  the  feeling  suggested 
by  their  insignificance  is  exchanged  for  wonder  at  their 
aggregate  power.  They  form,  in  fact,  another  of  those 
mighty  mechanisms  by  which  Providence  insures  the  sa- 
lubrity both  of  land  and  water ;  and  with  this  function  is 
combined  the  equally  important  task  of  economizing  the 
stock  of  organized  matter  already  gained  from  the  mineral 
kingdom,  and  preserving  it  in  a  state  fit  for  animal  food. 

These  objects  are  so  important  in  Nature's  household 
that  their  attainment,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  is  insured 
by  being  associated  with  the  instincts  and  wants  of  the 
creatures  themselves.  Their  voracity  was  necessary  to 
accomplish  Nature's  design.  But  for  their  labors  the  at- 
mosphere we  breathe  would  become  tainted  with  the  ex- 
halations of  decaying  animal  and  vegetable  matter,  and 
every  drop  of  water  in  which  putrefaction  was  going  on 
would  cast  up  into  the  air  its  germ  of  malaria  and  fever. 
Without  their  aid  the  surface  of  our  pleasant  earth  and 
our  bright  seas  would  be  covered  with  impurity.  Think 
of  the  myriads  of  fishes  dying  at  every  instant  in  the 
ocean,  and  the  quantity  of  putrescible  matter  which  must 
thus  be  diffused  through  it !  Were  no  provision  made  for 
its  speedy  removal,  it  would  rot,  fester,  and  corrupt  both 
air  and  water.  But  these  willing  workers  are  always  at 
hand  when  wanted,  and,  by  voraciously  feeding  on  the  de- 
caying atoms,  preserve  both  air  and  sea  in  sweetness  and 
salubrity. 

With  this  general  purification  is  combined,  as  has  been 
said,  another  scheme  of  providential  utility.    Nature  is  the 


Powers  of  the  Lord.  215 

most  admirable  of  housekeepers,  and  is  full  of  thrifty  con- 
trivances even  in  the  midst  of  her  proverbial  profusion. 
It  has,  therefore,  been  so  arranged  that  dead  animal  matter, 
often  got  from  the  mineral  kingdom  at  the  cost  of  tedious, 
time-consuming  processes,  shall  not  in  every  case  immedi- 
ately revert  back  to  it  through  decomposition,  but  shall 
be  saved  and  preserved  in  its  organic  form  so  as  to  be  at 
once  again  available  as  animal  food.  The  decaying  atoms 
thus  saved,  though  but  the  rubbish  and  sweepings  of  the 
world,  are  yet  so  valuable  that  innumerable  myriads  of 
creatures  specially  adapted  for  the  purpose  have  been 
stationed  at  the  outlets  of  organization  for  the  purpose  of 
intercepting  them  ;  and,  though  they  are  singly  minute 
enough  for  the  digestion  of  microscopic  animalcules,  they 
nevertheless  amount  to  an  enormous  aggregate  by  reason 
of  their  almost  universal  diffusion.  Had  the  decaying  an- 
imal matters  been  left  to  their  fate  without  this  interven- 
tion, they  would  have  been  quickly  resolved  into  their 
ultimate  mineral  constituents,  and,  in  the  form  of  carbonic 
acid,  hydrogen,  oxygen,  and  nitrogen,  would  have  been 
speedily  dissipated  by  the  winds  in  all  directions.  Who 
can  tell  how  long  these  gases  might  have  been  blown 
about  the  world  before  they  again  became  fixed  in  vegeta- 
ble shape,  or  how  long  it  might  have  been,  even  after  that 
preliminary  step  had  been  accomplished,  before  the  plants 
that  fed  upon  them  served  in  their  turn  as  food  for  ani- 
mals ?  Yet  not  until  this  cycle  had  been  run  would  they 
again  have  been  won  back  to  the  animal  kingdom,  and 
the  loss  that  would  have  been  thus  sustained  may  be  im- 
agined from  the  amount  of  decay  going  on  around  us.  To 
avoid  this  evil  Providence  has  drawn  as  it  were  a  cordon 
round  the  frontier  of  the  animal  kingdom,  and  has  in- 
trusted the  guarding  of  it  to  uncountable  numbers  of  Na- 
ture's "  invisible  police,"  with  orders  to  seize  upon  escap- 
ing particles  of  food,  and  to  turn  them  back  again  by  a 
short  route  into  the.  active  stream  of  life.     Hence,  just  as 


216  Powers  of  the  Lord. 

the  fugitive  atoms  were  on  the  point  of  decomposition, 
they  were  caught  up  and  imprisoned  for  a  time  in  the 
bodies  of  these  animalcules,  and  then  began  the  quick 
process  of  "  consecutive  nutrition."  The  infusory  was  de- 
voured by  some  microscopic  tyrant  a  little  bigger  than 
itself,  which  in  its  turn  was  snapped  up  by  a  hungry  larva 
or  some  prowling  insect ;  the  latter  afforded  a  tempting 
mouthful  to  a  greedy  fish  or  bird ;  and  these  again, 
secured  by  the  rod,  or  the  gun,  helped  to  supply  some 
hungry  man's  dinner. 

We"  are  accustomed,  and  with  reason,  to  speak  of  the 
"lower  or  inferior"    ranks  of  animal  life;  but  we   must 
recollect  that  the  expression  is  one  of  relation  only,  for 
every  thing  about  all  God's  creatures  is  perfect  in  respect 
to  the  place  they  inhabit  and  the  functions  they  perform. 
In  mere  beauty  and  finish   the    structure  of  the  highest 
classes  of  animals  is  equaled  and  often  surpassed  in  creat- 
ures very  near  the  bottom  of  the   scale.      To  the  Great 
Creator  structural  loveliness  and  perfection  cost  but  the 
Word  ;  and  they  are  lavished  without  stint  on  all  His  liv- 
ing works.     One  cannot  look  at  those  curious,  infusorial 
animalcules  without   being  convinced  that   in    their   way 
they  are  perfection  itself,  and   that  what  we  might  have 
been  pleased  to  call  higher  development  would  only  have 
impaired  their  efficiency  for  the  work  that  was  given  them 
to  perform.     Every  thing  is  in  all-wise  harmony.     Their 
size    and    strength  correspond  to  the  minute  atoms  they 
have  to  deal  with  ;  their  numbers,  to  the  stupendous  task 
before   them  ;  their  simple   organization,  hardy   constitu- 
tion, and   wonderful   tenacity   of  life,    to  a   geographical 
distribution  stretching,  so  far  as  we  know,  from  pole  to 
pole.     Wherever  moisture  is  found  and  organized  matter 
can  decay,  there  they  flourish  in   numbers  to  which  the 
work   to  be    done   alone    assigns    the    limit.      When   we 
look   round    and  see   how  good   every   created   thing  is, 
how  perfectly  the  system  works,  and  how  even  these  in- 


Powers  of  the  Lord.  217 

risible  atoms  of  life  are  provided  with  their  daily  food, 
we  can  throw  ourselves  with  reliance  on  Our  Father,  and 
realize  the  full  comfort  of  the  thought  that  He  careth  for 
us  also.  * 

Emblems  of  science  triumphant  —  telescope  and  micro- 
scope —  twin  hands  of  vision  —  with  one  we  grasp  the 
mighty  orbs  that  were  lost  to  us  in  space,  with  the  other 
we  bring  into  view  the  incomparable  atoms  of  life  that 
were  before  unseen.  To  what  more  noble  work  can 
science  be  consecrated  than  thus  to  win  for  us  glimpses  of 
the  mightiest  and  minutest  of  His  works,  and,  by  enlarg- 
ing the  field  over  which  we  humbly  follow  the  Creator's 
hand,  to  add  to  the  intensity  of  that  perception  with  which 
we  adoringly  recognize  His  Power  ? 

The  accidents  fraught  with  suffering  to  mankind  which 
now  and  then  happen  through  the  agency  of  the  great 
Powers  of  Nature  have  always  been  a  stumbling-block 
to  short-sighted  critics  of  the  ways  of  Providence.  It  is 
not  enough  for  them  to  know  that  in  the  dispensation  of 
things  here  below  there  is  no  absolute  good,  or  that  the 
admixture  of  bad  is  often  less  essential  than  it  seems,  and 
is  mainly  due  to  blamable  want  of  forethought.  With 
dismay  they  read  of  conflagrations  and  earthquakes,  the 
bursting  of  reservoirs  and  other  accidents,  and  they  are 
tempted  secretly  to  question  the  wisdom  of  laws  under 
which  such  disasters  are  entailed.  The  most  cursory 
glance  at  the  government  of  the  world  must  convince 
every  body  that  Providence  legislates  on  the  widest  basis 
for  the  well-being  of  the  whole,  and  we  must  ever  weigh 
the  ill  occasionally  sustained  by  a  few  through  the  opera- 
tion of  these  Powers  against  the  necessary  services  ren- 
dered by  them  to  the  universal  world.  It  must  be  recol- 
lected, too,  that  God  has  given  faculties  to  man  for  the 
very  purpose  of  enabling  him  to  avert  or  control  the  dan- 
ger thus  arising.  Fire  causes  direful  conflagrations,  it  is 
true,  but  how  generally  it  is  in   man's  power  to  prevent 


218  Powers  of  the  Lord. 

them  by  proper  precaution.     The  means  are  placed  within 
his  reach.     On  the  other  hand,  when  we  weigh  this  com- 
paratively rare  evil  against  the  blessings  showered  upon 
man  at  every  instant  by  "  Fire  and  Heat,"  into  what  im- 
perceptible dimensions  does  not  the  accidental  evil  shrink ! 
The  noble  ship  sinks  under  the  waters  and  its  crew  per- 
ishes,  or  a  Sheffield  reservoir   bursts  its  dam   and   sub- 
merges villages  and  plains,  or  laborers  are  crushed  by  a 
falling  bridge  or  tower.     Well  —  all  this  mischief  results 
from  the  inexorable  law   of  gravity ;  but  would  any  one 
wish  that,  in  order  to  prevent  these  accidents,  there  had 
been  no  law  of  gravity  in  existence  ?     In  most  cases  these 
calamities  might  have  been  prevented.     Were  gravity  an 
uncertain,   capricious  thing,  then,  indeed,  there  would  be 
cause  for  fear  and  lamentation,  and  it  would  be  impossible 
to  cope  with  the   evils   attendant  on  its  action.     But  care 
has  been  taken  that  a  Power  operating  thus  universally 
should  be   subject  to  the  most  rigid   laws,  and  that  man 
should  be  able  not  only  to  parry  many  of  the  dangers  to 
which  it  may  lead,  but  that  he  should  also  be  able  to  turn 
it  to  account  for  his  own  purposes.     Let  us  reflect  that,  in 
order  to  have  absolutely  prevented  such  accidents,  the  law 
of  gravity  itself  must   have   been  suspended ;  and  were 
that  law  suspended  but  for  an  instant,  the  earth  and  the 
whole  heavens  would  collapse  into  destruction.     A  law  so 
essential  to  the  existence  of  the  world  must  be  made  per- 
emptory and  universal  —  it  cannot  be  made  to  hold  for 
some  occasions  and  not  for  others  ;  it  is  a  chain  of  safety 
that  must  not  be  left  to  be  slackened  at  discretion.     If  it 
extinguish  life  now  and   then,  we  must  not  forget  that  it 
alone  makes  life  possible  for  all.     In  the  same  way  the 
tempest,  the   lightning,  and  the  stormy  sea  have  their  uses 
in  Nature's  economy,  and  these  will  be  noticed  in  another 
place.     The  earthquake   and   the  volcano  appear   to   be 
agents  employed  in  modifying  the  crust  of  the  earth,  and 
preparing  it  for  future  purposes  in  which  we  of  the  present 


Powers  of  the  Lord.  219 

generation  have  no  part.  But  even  in  regard  to  these  ter- 
rible displays  of  force  we  must  not  forget  that  they  are  the 
result  of  that  same  Power  of  the  Lord  which  is  almost 
universally  working  for  our  advantage.  And  when  we  are 
assailed  with  difficulties  in  regard  to  the  material  govern- 
ment of  the  world  —  when  we  see  evils  prevailing  for 
which  we  cannot  even  imagine  any  equivalent  advantage 
—  let  us  fall  back  with  confidence  on  our  experience  of 
God's  ways.  Surrounded  as  we  are  on  every  side  with 
evidence  of  the  care  bestowed  by  our  heavenly  Father  on 
all  His  creatures,  we  can  well  afford  to  wait  with  patience 
until  these  and  other  perplexing  questions  are  solved,  in 
the  full  conviction  that,  when  the  fitting  time  comes,  they 
will  be  found  to  exhibit  new  proofs  of  God's  Power  and 
Goodness. 

Great  is  our  Lord,  and  great  is  His  power;  yea,  and  His  wisdom  is  infinite. 

Ps.  cxlvii. 


MOUNTAINS  AND  HILLS. 

O  ye  Mountains  and  Hills,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise  Him,  and 
magnify  Him  for  e=ver. 

|F  it  were  required  to  name  the  grandest  natural 
objects  upon  earth,  it  is  probable  that  "  mountains 
and  hills "  would  rise  to  the  lips  of  not  a  few. 
In  sublimity  they  take  rank  with  the  ocean  and  the  clouds. 
They  were  chosen  by  the  Psalmist  to  typify  God's  power, 
—  "  And  the  strength  of  the  hills  is  His  also."  On  the 
one  hand,  their  height,  their  mass,  and  the  deep  planting 
of  their  roots  in  the  earth  ;  and  on  the  other,  the  beauty 
which  rests  upon  their  varied  outlines,  which  clothes  their 
sides  and  precipices,  and  lies  among  their  wide  valleys 
and  deep  glens,  mark  them  out  not  only  as  the  most  con- 
spicuous, but  also  as  among  the  most  attractive  objects  in 
the  world.  Nor  is  it  without  wise  design  that  these  grand 
features  of  the  earth  should  twine  themselves  round  the 
affections.  The  love  of  the  Highlander  for  his  hills  is 
proverbial.  Love  for  the  spot  where  one  was  born  —  for 
the  district  where  one  has  lived,  secures  for  it  the  interest 
of  friends  who  will  look  to  its  welfare.  Memory  lingers 
over  the  dim  outline  of  a  mountain  long  after  other  scenes 
grouped  round  its  base  have  faded  away ;  and  one  can 
easily  understand  that  the  eyes  which  day  by  day  rest  on 
the  familiar  hills  must  ultimately  open  up  for  them  a  way 
to  the  heart.  Exiles  from  a  country  abounding  in  famous 
mountains,  it  was  to  be  expected  that  the  Three  Children, 
in  their  survey  of  Nature,  should  invoke  them  as  testimo- 
nies of  the  Mercy  and  Power  of  the  Lord.     Had  not  their 


Mountains  and  Hills.  221 

beloved  land  been  traversed  with  hills  to  bring  down  the 
fertilizing  rain  from  the  clouds,  Judea  might  have  been  as 
arid  as  the  neighboring  desert.     The  dying  Moses  had,  in 
blessing  the  tribes,  spoken  of  "  the  precious  things  of  the 
lasting  hills."     Many  of  the  mountains  which  they  might 
have  seen  in  their  childhood,  and  with  whose  names  we, 
too,  are  familiar,  were  treasured  in  their  thoughts  as  en- 
during monuments  of  the  power  of  God  in  delivering  His 
chosen  people.     The  hill  of  Bashan  marked  for  ever  the 
spot  where  Moses   gained  the  victory  over  Og,  its  king. 
Mount  Carmel  was  identified  with  the  deeds  of  the  Prophet 
Elijah.     It  was  here  that  the  "  fire  of  the  Lord  fell  and 
consumed  the  burnt-sacrifice  "  which  the  servant  of  God 
prepared  when  he  would  confound  the  priests  of  BaaL 
From  the  top  of  Carmel,  too,  the  Prophet  discerned  th« 
"  little  cloud  out  of  the  sea,  like  a  man's  hand,"  which  an 
nounced    the  welcome    rain.      They   might   have    knowi 
Mount  Tabor,  conspicuous  among  all  the  hills  of  Lower 
Galilee,  with  its  plain  where   Sisera  "  with    his  chariots 
and    his    multitude "   was    delivered    into    the    hands  of 
Barak,  and  where  more  recently  their  oppressor  Nebuchad- 
nezzar had  striven  with  and  vanquished  the  children  of 
Israel ;  but  they  knew  not    that  it  was  destined  in  after 
ages  to  become  still  more  interesting  to  us  as  the  tradi- 
tional scene  of  the  Transfiguration.     From    the    rock  in 
Horeb  Moses  miraculously  drew  forth  the  water  to  quench 
the  thirst  of  the  children  of  Israel.     Nor  from  this  list  can 
Sinai,  the  most  famous  mountain  of  all,  be  omitted,  where 
the  Lord  delivered  the  law  to  Moses,  and  revealed  Himself 
to  the  children  of  Israel  in  the  cloud  upon  the  smoking 
mountain,  and  where  other  momentous  events  in  the  pas- 
sage through  the  desert  took  place. 

The  mountain  of  which  the  Bible  makes  earliest  men- 
tion is  Ararat,  and  it  is  identified  with  an  occurrence  that 
renders  it  a  testimony  for  ever  of  God's  power  and  mercy. 
When  the  race  which  had  provoked  the  wrath  of  Heaven 


222  Mountains  and  Hills. 

by  its  wickedness  had  been  destroyed  in  the  waters  of  the 
deluge,  the  ark  with  its  favored  inmates  was  guided  tc 
rest  and  safety  upon  its  heights.  The  Lord  let  loose  the 
powers  chained  up  in  Nature  against  His  enemies,  and  yet, 
"  remembering  mercy,"  preserved  a  remnant  by  which  the 
fair  earth  was  again  filled  with  life.  Mount  Ararat  forms 
the  loftiest  peak  in  the  long  ridge  of  the  Taurus,  rising 
I7?75°  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  or  nearly  2000  feet 
higher  than  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc.  It  is  situated  in 
that  corner  of  Asia  Minor  where  the  dominions  of  Russia, 
Turkey,  and  Persia  touch,  and  from  the  circumstance  that 
it  is  partly  detached  from  the  groups  around  it,  the  eye 
takes  in  nearly  its  whole  outline  from  base  to  apex  ;  hence 
in  isolated  majesty  it  stands  forth  among  the  most  sublime 
mountains  in  the  world.  Its  crest  is  mantled  in  snow,  and 
so  difficult  is  the  ascent  that,  although  often  attempted,  it 
was  never  achieved  until  1829,  when  the  feat  was  accom- 
plished by  Professor  Parrot,  of  the  Russian  service.  Since 
the  days  of  Noah,  perhaps,  no  other  human  foot  had  ever 
been  planted  on  the  top  of  that  famous  hill.  Mount 
Ararat  is  an  object  of  interest  and  veneration  not  only  to 
Christians  but  to  Mohammedans.also,  as  well  as  to  the  in- 
habitants generally  of  that  district  of  Western  Asia.  An 
Oriental  traveler  relates  that  when  an  Armenian  for  the 
first  time  beholds  the  well-known  outline  of  the  mountain 
after  a  long  absence,  he  kisses  the  ground,  makes  the  sign 
of  the  cross,  and  repeats  certain  prayers. 

Stupendous  though  mountain  masses  be,  they  form  but 
trifling  inequalities  when  compared  to  the  diameter  of  the 
globe  on  which  they  rest.  Between  the  summit  of  Chim- 
borazo,  one  of  the  highest  of  the  Andes,  and  the  deepest 
part  of  the  Atlantic  yet  sounded  lying  to  the  south  of 
Newfoundland,  there  is  an  estimated  difference  of  level 
amounting  to  about  nine  miles.  This  may  be  considered 
as  representing  with  near  approximation  the  difference  be- 
tween the  highest  and  the  lowest  spots  upon  the  globe. 


Mountains  and  Hills.  223 

The  loftiest  peaks  of  the  Himalayas  hardly  exceed  an 
elevation  of  five  miles  above  the  sea,  which  is  a  height  so 
inconsiderable  in  relation  to  the  diameter  of  the  globe 
that  it  is  a  great  exaggeration  to  compare  it,  as  is  often 
done,  to  the  rugosities  on  the  surface  of  an  orange.  Pro- 
portionate inequalities  on  an  orange  would  be  invisible  to 
the  naked  eye.  According  to  other  estimates  the  highest 
table-lands  of  the  world  might  be  fairly  represented  by  the 
thinnest  sheet  of  writing-paper,  and  the  highest  mountain 
by  the  smallest  visible  particle  of  sand  laid  upon  a  16- 
inch  globe. 

Mountains  play  an  important  part  in  the  economy  of 
Nature,  and  they  are  the  agents  by  which  the  Creator  be- 
stows many  blessings  upon  his  children.  They  act  as 
loadstones  to  the  clouds,  and  draw  down  from  them  the 
fertilizing  rain.  Often  it  is  a  mountain-range  which  de- 
termines whether  a  country  is  to  be  a  garden  or  a  desert, 
and  points  out  the  place  where  rain-bringing  winds  are  to 
yield  up  their  treasures.  While  considering  the  "  waters 
above  the  firmament "  it  has  been  shown  how  the  barren- 
ness' of  the  deserts  of  Thibet  and  Mongolia  has  been 
produced  by  the  rain-intercepting  ridge  of  the  Himalayas, 
and  how  the  southwest  monsoon,  which  covers  the  wide 
plains  of  Hindostan  with  fertility,  is  the  result  of  their 
combined  action.  As  Maury  has  observed,  the  desert  and 
the  mountain  are  "  counterpoises  or  compensations  to 
make  the  machine  perfect,"  and  they  are  placed  in  certain 
selected  situations  over  the  earth  for  the  general  good,  to 
regulate  up  to  a  certain  point  the  course  of  the  winds,  and 
determine  where  the  rains  shall  most  abundantly  fall.  In 
relation  to  this  important  function,  no  less  than  to  other 
cosmical  considerations,  it  may  be  said,  with  literal  truth, 
that  "  He  has  comprehended  the  dust  of  the  earth  in  a 
measure,  and  weighed  the  mountains  in  scales,  and  the 
hills  in  a  balance."  Had  the  "dust  "of  the  deserts  of 
Central   Asia  been  measured  out  either  with  greater  or 


224  Mountains  and  Hills. 

"with  less  abundance  than  actually  is  the  case,  or  had  the 
Himalayan  mountains  been  weighed  in  masses  greatly 
differing  from  those  they  now  present,  the  whole  monsoon- 
machinery  would  have  been  thrown  off  the  balance  on 
which  it  has  been  so  perfectly  adjusted,  and  the  wide  plains 
of  India  would  have  been  changed  into  a  sterile  desert. 

Mountains  "  drink  the  waters  of  the  rain  of  Heaven." 
They  are  the  great  water-sheds  of  the  earth.  On  their 
tops  the  river-systems  of  the  world  are  born,  and  the  tiny 
rills  thence  first  started  on  their  way  soon  coalesce  into 
streams,  and  then  into  rivers,  to  be  poured  back  eventually 
into  the  sea  whence  they  came.  It  is  obvious  that,  if  the 
earth  had  been  a  dead  level,  and  if  there  had  been  no 
slopes  and  hollows  to  collect  the  moisture  together,  water 
would  have  lodged  in  stagnant  pools  over  its  surface, 
spoilt  its  fertility,  and  covered  it  with  unhealthy  swamps. 
As  a  general  rule,  to  which  for  wise  reasons  there  are 
some  remarkable  exceptions,  mountains  form  the  back- 
bone or  central  ridge  of  continents  ;  and  Nature,  by  de- 
creeing that  the  chief  rains  shall  fall  among  them,  has 
secured  the  greatest  amount  of  fertilizing  service  which  it 
is  possible  for  them  to  render.  As  it  flows  downward  to 
the  sea,  the  rain-water,  collected  into  streams,  dispenses 
fertility  on  all  sides.  Had  it  been  otherwise  arranged,  and 
had  the  chief  rainfall  occurred  near  the  coasts,  the  course 
of  the  rivers  produced  by  it  would  have  been  necessarily 
short,  and  the  amount  of  good  done  by  them  would  have 
been  comparatively  small. 

Let  us  for  a  moment  trace  the  influence  which  the  posi- 
tion of  mountains  exercises  on  the  climates  of  certain  dis- 
tricts. The  extraordinary  fertility  of  the  soil  and  the  rich- 
ness of  vegetation  found  throughout  the  vast  basin  of  the 
Amazon  and  in  some  regions  to  the  south  are  produced 
by  the  absence  of  high  mountain  ridges  running  parallel 
with  the  eastern  shore  of  equatorial  America.  The  Trade- 
wind  reaches  the  shores  of  Brazil  saturated  with  moisture 


Mountains  and  Hills,  225 

gathered  up  while  sweeping  across  the  Atlantic.  If  it  now 
encountered  lofty  mountains,  the  rain  would  be  drawn  from 
it  in  quantities  which,  while  they  deluged  the  districts  near 
the  shore  and  made  them  comparatively  useless,  would 
have  left  little  moisture  behind  to  fertilize  the  vast  interior. 
The  Valley  of  the  Amazon  might  then  have  been  changed 
into  a  desert,  instead  of  being  adorned,  as  it  now  is,  with  A 
the  most  glorious  vegetation  in  the  world.  Let  us  consider 
what  has  actually  happened  on  the  opposite  side  of  South 
America,  where  the  conditions  just  mentioned  are  reversed. 
One  of  the  most  rain-charged  winds  in  existence  blows 
from  the  Pacific  Ocean  against  the  coast  of  Patagonia.  But 
no  sooner  does  it  reach  the  shore  than  it  encounters  the 
lofty  Andes  ;  torrents  of  water  are  immediately  drained 
off  from  the  clouds,  and  one  of  the  wettest  climates  of  the 
earth  is  the  result.  The  vegetation,  however,  is  of  a  rank 
and  not  very  useful  kind,  owing  to  the  superabundance 
of  moisture  and  the  want  of  sun  ;  and  the  whole  country 
is  covered  with  gloomy,  impenetrable  forests  of  pine.  But 
mark  what  happens  to  the  districts  lying  beyond.  The 
interior  of  Patagonia  is  a  vast  desert ;  for  the  moisture, 
which  otherwise  would  have  fertilized  it,  has  been  already 
condensed  out  of  the  wind  by  the  cold  tops  of  the  Ancles. 
And  the  same  fate  would  unquestionably  have  overtaken 
Brazil  and  La  Plata  had  the  Andes  been  placed  upon  the 
eastern  instead  of  on  the  western  side  of  the  continent. 

Many  mountain  ranges  in  warm  or  tropical  countries, 
like  prudent  foster-mothers,  hold  near  their  summits  vast 
reservoirs  of  water  frozen  into  ice  and  snow,  in  order  that 
they  may  pour  down  from  their  sides  the  needful  supply 
of  moisture  when  the  plains  below  are  parched  by  the 
summer's  sun.  Thus  the  glaciers  of  the  Himalayas  feed 
the  Ganges,  the  Indus,  and  the  Burhampootra  ;  and  the 
hio-her  Andes  roll  down  cool  streams  into  the  rainless  dis- 
tricts  bordering  the  Pacific.  The  Rhine  and  the  Rhone, 
with  many  of  their  early  affluents,  issue  from  glaciers  in 

15 


226  Mountains  and  Hills. 

Switzerland,  and  they  would  dwindle  into  small  propor- 
tions in  the  summer  time  were  it  not  for  the  supplies  given 
to  them  by  these  compensating  reservoirs  of  ice.  In  winter, 
indeed,  these  alpine  sources  are  partially  locked  up  by  the 
frost ;  and  hence  it  is  remarked  that  these  rivers  never 
have  their  channels  better  filled  than  during  the  hot  sum- 
mer months  when  the  melting  of  the  glaciers  is  most 
rapid. 

In  ascending  lofty  tropical  mountains  successive  belts 
of  vegetation  are  traversed,  which  represent  in  miniature 
the  different  climates  of  the  earth  as  we  pass  from  the 
Equator  toward  the  poles.  At  the  base  of  the  Peruvian 
Andes,  for  example,  the  traveler  finds  himself  in  the  glow- 
ing temperature  of  the  tropics.  For  the  first  5000  feet  of 
ascent  his  way  lies  among  pine-apples,  cocoas,  bananas, 
and  other  kinds  of  palms,  with  bright  and  fantastic-looking 
orchids  clustering  on  the  trees,  and  marking  the  equatorial 
character  of  the  belt.  While  plodding  his  way  up  the  next 
5000  feet  of  ascent  the  traveler  sees  much  to  remind  him 
of  the  vegetation  of  temperate  climates  :  the  vine  flour- 
ishes, while  crops  of  maize  and  wheat  luxuriantly  clothe 
the  ground,  as  in  Southern  Europe.  In  passing  through 
the  next  5000  feet  the  temperature  gradually  chills  into 
severe  cold.  At  first  vegetation  wears  the  aspect  of  the 
higher  "  temperate  "  climates.  The  wheat  lias  disappeared, 
and  figuratively  the  traveler  may  be  said  to  be  as  far  north 
as  John  o'Groat's  ;  but  the  potato  still  thrives,  while  barley 
and  rye  assimilate  the  climate  to  that  of  parts  of  Norway. 
The  stately  trees  of  the  lower  belts  have  disappeared,  and 
the  forests  are  thin  and  degenerate,  until  at  length  a 
scrubby  pine  or  birch  is  their  sole  representative.  Here, 
at  an  altitude  equal  to  the  surmnit  of  Mont  Blanc,  the  first 
wreaths  of  perpetual  snow  and  the  last  efforts  of  expiring 
vegetation  come  into  contact.  Plantal  life  as  usual  dies 
out  with  the  moss  and  the  lichen. 

Mountain  ranges  and  lofty  plateaux  form  a  natural  san 


Mountains  and  Hills.  227 

atorium  frequently  established  by  Providence  in  the  midst 
of  hot,  unhealthy  tropical  countries.  The  worn-out  invalid 
finds  on  these  cool  heights  a  climate  which  soon  restores 
him  to  health,  and  enables  him  again  to  encounter  the  less- 
favorable  influences  of  the  plains.  Recent  improvements 
in  traveling  have  enhanced  the  value  of  this  blessing  by 
enabling  many  to  take  advantage  of  the  change  who  for- 
merly could  not  profit  by  it.  The  Madrasian  retires  to 
recruit  his  exhausted  vigor  among  the  bracing  Neilgherries  ; 
the  citizen  of  Calcutta  travels  to  the  "  upper  country  "  to 
seek  health  among  the  slopes  of  the  Himalayas  ;  the  Cin- 
galese leaves  the  sultry  coast  to  profit  by  the  more  bracing 
air  of  the  coffee  districts  near  Adam's  Peak  ;  the  Mexican 
leaves  the  Caliente  for  the  Templada  or  the  Fria  ;  and  the 
Peruvian  or  Chilian  of  the  coast  finds  cool  air,  verdure,  and 
health  on  the  lofty  sides  of  the  Ancles.  On  the  whole, 
there  are  few  tropical  districts  so  unfortunately  placed  as 
to  be  beyond  moderately  easy  access  to  some  mountain 
sanatorium. 

Mountains  exhibit  wonderful  proofs  of  the  force  dis- 
played in  the  arrangement  of  the  surface  of  the  earth. 
Geology  tells  us  that  many  of  them  —  like  the  lofty  peaks 
of  the  Andes,  or  Ailsa  Craig,  or  Teneriffe  —  have  been 
cast  forth  as  liquid  lava  from  the  interior  of  the  earth  by 
the  force  of  fire.  Others,  again,  though  deposited  originally 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  have  been  lifted  as  it  were  on  the 
back  of  other  rocks,  so  as  now  to  form  lofty  ridges.  There 
are  limestone  strata  of  marine  origin,  labelled  with  shells 
identical  with  others  found  in  low-lying  beds  near  Paris, 
which  are  now  placed  at  a  height  of  10,000  feet  above  the 
ocean,  crowning  the  summit  of  the  Diablerets  among  the 
Swiss  Alps.  Examples  of  similar  elevations  are  met  with 
among  the  Himalayas,  in  Tahiti,  and  elsewhere. 

Viewed  under  another  aspect,  mountains  show  forth  the 
power  of  the  Creator  in  a  way  still  more  marvelous.  Many 
mountain   masses  and  level  strata  consist  chiefly  of  the 


228  Mountains  and  Hills. 

remains  of  animals  that  formerly  existed  on  the  globe. 
The  beautiful  marbles  of  Derbyshire,  for  instance,  owe 
their  variegated  markings  to  the  shells  which  successive 
generations  of  creatures  built  up  and  left  behind.  One 
feels  astounded  at  the  profusion  of  ancient  life  revealed  by 
those  "  medals  of  creation."  Nearly  the  whole  city  of 
Paris  has  been  reared  out  of  the  consolidated  remains 
of  microscopic  Miliolas  quarried  from  the  neighboring  ter- 
tiary beds  ;  and  calculations  show  that  every  cubic  inch  of 
this  stone  contains  not  fewer  than  2000  millions  of  indi- 
viduals. The  most  famous  of  the  pyramids  are  formed  out 
of  the  remains  of  microscopic  nummulites,  cemented  into 
a  building-stone  which  is  found  abundantly  in  Egypt  and 
in  many  other  places.  One  of  the  most  remarkable  exam- 
ples of  the  former  profusion  of  life  is  to  be  found  in  the 
polishing  slate  of  Bilin,  in  Bohemia,  which  is  estimated  to 
contain  the  remains  of  41,000  millions  of  infusory  animals 
in  every  cubic  inch. 

Look  at  those  distant  hills  !  We  recognize  the  English 
Downs  by  their  soft,  wavy  outline,  by  the  marvelous  bright- 
ness of  their  green,  by  their  springy  turf,  by  the  white  sheep 
specks  that  dot  their  gently  sloping  sides,  and  by  the 
bracing  air  which  sweeps  over  them  with  the  crisp  fresh- 
ness of  the  sea.  They  undulate  in  a  broad  belt  through 
England,  from  the  shore  of  Dorset  to  the  cliffs  of  Flam- 
borough  and  Dover.  In  the  north  of  Ireland  the  chalk 
has  been  broken  through  and  almost  fused  by  the  volcanic 
fires  which  once  formed  the  Giant's  Causeway.  It  extends 
across  the  Continent  of  Europe  in  several  directions  nearly 
from  end  to  end,  and  in  other  quarters  of  the  w^rld  it  is 
largely  developed.  The  vast  mass  is  heaped  upon  thou- 
sands of  square  miles  of  the  earth's  crust.  Yet  it  is  but 
the  sepulchre  of  myriads  of  creatures  that  formerly  existed, 
and  the  visible  evidence  of  the  profusion  of  life  that  issued 
in  ancient  times  from  the  Creator's  hand.  Scattered 
throughout  are  the  bones  of  reptiles  and  fishes,  with  corals, 


Mountains  and  Hills.  229 

sea-urchins,  sponges,  and  other  marine  remains.  While 
surveying  these  relics  we  realize  and  seem  to  become 
familiar  with  the  curious  forms  of  life  which  then  existed. 
But  the  tomb  of  chalk  in  which  they  lie  is  itself  composed 
partly  of  crushed,  compressed,  or  metamorphosed  shells, 
partly  of  myriads  of  microscopic  animalcules,  whose  struct- 
ure and  markings  are  often  as  beautiful  and  perfect  as  if 
they  had  only  died  yesterday.  Who  can  conceive  the 
abundance  of  the  life  which  thus  built  up  those  hills  ?  Yet 
every  thing  tends  to  show  that  there  is  not  an  atom  of 
chalk  in  the  world  which  did  not  once  form  part  of  a  living 
animal ! 

I  will  remember  the  works  of  the  Lord ;  and  call  to  mind  thy  wondera  of 
old  time.  —  Ps.  Ixxvii. 


THE  EARTH. 

O  let  the  Earth  bless  the  Lord:  yea,  let  it  praise  Him,  and  mag- 
nify Him  for  ever. 

|N  those  summer  strolls  amid  rural  scenes  which 
now  and  then  cast  sunshine  on  the  way  of  even 
the  busiest  among  us,  who  has  not  rested  on  some 
river's  bank  or  green  hill-side,  and  in  his  heart  humbly 
thanked  God,  both  for  having  clothed  the  earth  with 
beauty,  and  for  having  bestowed  upon  himself  the  faculty 
to  appreciate  and  enjoy  it  ?  Which  of  us  can  estimate  the 
sum  of  purest  pleasure  that  would  have  been  lost  to  man 
had  he  been  created  as  unconscious  of  this  beauty  as  the 
beasts  that  perish  ?  But  by  the  love  of  our  Father  —  who 
careth  for  our  pleasure  as  well  as  for  our  wants  —  a  power 
to  perceive  the  charms  of  Nature  has  been  implanted  uni- 
versally within  us,  and  none  are  shut  out  from  its  enjoy- 
ment. The  savage  and  the  civilized,  the  old  and  the 
young,  the  rich  and  the  poor  —  all  are  capable  of  feeling 
its  softening  influence.  This  admiration  awakens  a  taste 
which  grows  and  strengthens  by  what  it  feeds  on  ;  for  he 
who  has  once  truly  experienced  the  charm  of  Nature's 
scenery  will  ever  afterward  be  on  the  watch  to  discover 
and  enjoy  it.  In  the  midst  of  scenes  like  these  let  the 
thought  now  and  then  rise  in  the  mind  that  in  making 
Nature  so  attractive  it  was  intended,  not  merely  to  please 
the  eye,  but  to  draw  man  on  to  the  consideration  of  the 
work  itself,  and  to  move  him  by  the  aspect  of  its  beauteous 
perfection  to  magnify  the  Great  Artificer. 

But  while  there  are  many  whose    delight  it  is  to  feast 


The  Earth.  231 

upon  such  treats,  spread  out  before  them  for  enjoyment  by 
the  Father,  there  are  some  who  pass  on  without  caring  to 
taste.  The  very  commonness  of  the  privilege  dulls  their 
perception,  and  they  either  see  it  not  at  all,  or  look  on 
with  apathy.  There  are  others  who  ardently  profess  their 
love  of  Nature,  but  the  feeling,  though  sometimes  even 
extravagantly  expressed,  is  nevertheless  capricious  and 
uncertain.  They  are  ready  to  admire  on  great  occasions  ; 
but  they  have  little  relish  for  Nature  in  its  ordinary  dress, 
and  exact  the  stimulus  of  "  fine  scenery  "  before  they  will 
condescend  to  enjoy.  Alas !  what  loss  is  theirs  —  and 
how  thriftless  they  are  in  thus  throwing  away  a  pure  and 
oft-recurring  pleasure  in  a  world  where  pleasures  without 
alloy  are  all  too  few !  It  is,  indeed,  only  reasonable  that 
we  should  be  most  keenly  impressed  by  the  more  rare  dis- 
plays of  Nature's  highest  beauties ;  but  surely  that  need 
not  render  us  insensible  to  such  charms  as  may  with  cer- 
tainty be  found  in  almost  every  landscape.  In  our  daily 
intercourse  with  Nature  out-of-doors  it  is  wisdom  not  to 
encourage  too  fastidious  a  taste.  A  few  earnest,  sympathiz- 
ing glances,  however  homely  may  be  the  scene  on  which 
they  dwell,  will  rarely  fail  to  gather  up  some  grains  of 
gratification,  and  Nature  will  surely  smile  back  on  us  if 
we  will  but  look  with  interest  upon  her.  A  little  en- 
couragement given  to  this  appreciative  disposition  will 
return  a  rich  reward,  for  it  will  bring  within  life's  circle  a 
thousand  moments  of  enjoyment  which  would  otherwise 
be  wholly  lost. 

In  other  parts  of  this  book  some  remarks  will  be  found 
on  the  cosmical  relations  of  our  planet.  Various  illustra- 
tions of  God's  Goodness  and  Wisdom,  as  exhibited  in  the 
productions  of  the  earth  and  in  its  physical  geography, 
are  likewise  given  elsewhere.  In  this  place  I  shall  en- 
deavor to  point  out  by  some  further  illustrations  how  mar- 
velously  man  has  been  able,  by  the  favor  of  Providence, 
to  convert   many  of  the  raw  materials  of  the   earth  into 


2  3-'  The  Earth. 

great  blessings.  I  shall  also  venture  to  make  a  few  ob- 
servations in  regard  to  the  principle  on  which  the  treasures 
of  the  earth  are  to  be  dedicated  to  His  service,  and  on  the 
mode  in  which  they  may  be  made  to  contribute  to  His 

glory- 

The  Earth  is  tne  Lord's,  and  All  that  therein  is.  —  Ps.  xxiv. 

The  earth  is,  indeed,  beautiful ;  but  this  is  only  the  out- 
side adornment  lavished  on  a  priceless  casket.  Earth  is  a 
fruitful  mother,  filled  with  the  treasures  of  God's  love  to 
man  !  Its  vaults  are  packed  full  of  stone  for  building  and 
marble  for  decoration  —  with  metals  of  every  kind  for  use 
and  ornament  —  with  coals  for  warming  us  and  multiply- 
ing ten  million-fold  the  strength  of  our  arms  —  with  foun- 
tains of  oil  for  our  lamps,  and  with  countless  other  gifts 
that  minister  to  our  happiness.  Who  could  succeed  in 
exhausting  the  catalogue  of  the  things  with  which  the 
earth  trumpets  forth  His  praise  and  glory  ?  For  all  our 
material  wants  this  is  the  storehouse  in  which  are  laid  up 
the  gifts  that  will  content  them.  Yet  in  the  midst  of  riches 
that  are.  inconceivable  there  is  nothing  that  is  superfluous, 
or  which  does  not  fulfill  its  appointed  task  in  Nature's 
economy.  With  short-sighted  rashness  we  sometimes  call 
certain  things  worthless,  and  others  precious  ;  but  in  the 
system  of  Providence  none  are  worthless  and  all  are  pre- 
cious. 

Within  the  wide  range  of  scientific  art  there  is  perhaps 
no  change  more  surprising  than  that  by  which  sand  is  con- 
verted into  glass,  and  there  are  few  that  are  fraught  with 
more  advantage  to  man.  Consider  the  abundance  of 
sand,  and  how  it  covers  the  earth  almost  to  redundancy. 
That  this  coarse,  opaque  substance  should  cast  off  its 
common  nature  so  completely  as  to  become  bright  crystal 
is  a  marvel  which  none  could  have  anticipated,  and  which 
seems  comparable  only  to  the  metamorphosis  of  the  dull 
pupa  into  the  beautiful  imago  of  insect  life.     Intractable 


The  Earth.  233 

though  sand  may  be  when  heated  in  the  furnace  by  itself, 
the  admixture  of  an  alkaline  substance  with  it  in  the 
crucible  tames  its  obdurate  nature,  conquers  its  opacity, 
and  fuses  it  into  the  precious,  transparent  glass  which  we 
apply  to  so  many  useful  purposes. 

Glass-making  was  one  of  the  earliest  of  the  arts.  Its 
manufacture,  as  practiced  3500  years  ago,  is  painted  on 
the  walls  of  the  Egyptian  tombs  of  Beni  Hassen,  and  the 
mummy-chambers  of  that  and  subsequent  periods  have 
yielded  up  numerous  articles  in  glass,  of  which  an  interest- 
ing collection  may  be  seen  in  the  British  Museum.  Not 
the  least  remarkable  were  the  artificial  gems  which  were 
turned  out  with  a  success  rivaling  the  best  modern  pro- 
ductions of  Paris.  Fairholt  tells  us  that  "  the  green  eme- 
rald, the  purple  amethyst,  and  other  expensive  gems,  were 
successfully  imitated,  and  a  necklace  of  false  stones  could 
be  purchased  of  a  Theban  jeweler  with  as  much  facility  as 
at  a  London  shop  of  the  present  clay."  During  the  early 
period  of  its  history,  indeed,  glass-making  was  even  more 
of  an  ornamental  than  a  useful  art,  and  it  is  curious  to 
note  how  long  it  was  before  some  of  the  most  valuable 
applications  of  glass  to  the  wants  of  man  were  discovered. 
A  few  of  the  windows  in  Pompeii  appear  to  have  been 
glazed.  Some  houses  in  England  had  windows  containing 
foreign  glass  in  the  reign  of  Henry  II.  ;  but  there  was  no 
manufactory  of  it  in  this  country  until  the  year  1557. 
Windows,  before  that  time,  were  either  open  to  the  weather, 
or  were  closed  with  paper  or  linen  made  translucent  by 
being  soaked  in  oil.  In  some  countries  a  natural  but  very 
inferior  substitute  for  glass  had  been  provided  in  the  shape 
of  thin  scales  of  mica. 

It  has  been  remarked  that,  to  a  superficial  observer, 
nothing  appears  to  be  of  less  value  than  sand,  except  it  be 
its  twin  sister  clay.  But  we  have  seen  how  God  has  in- 
spired man  with  the  power  to  turn  sand  into  glass ;  and 
with  equal  goodness  He  has  taught  him  how  to  convert 


234  The  Earth. 

clay  into  useful  pottery.  Let  any  one  try  to  realize  how 
much  comfort  and  convenience  would  have  been  lost  had 
our  Father  not  impressed  those  substances  with  their  val- 
uable, secret  qualities  ;  or  had  He  not  with  corresponding 
design,  led  man  on  to  the  knowledge  of  how  to  profit  by 
them. 

The  making  of  pottery  was  one  of  the  earliest  arts  prac- 
ticed in  the  world.  In  its  rudest  state  it  seems  an  easy 
invention.  On  the  one  hand,  the  common  wants  of  man 
urgently  suggest  it ;  on  the  other,  the  plastic  clay  im- 
pressed by  his  foot  and  baked  in  the  sun  obviously  points 
toward  it.  It  was  impossible  for  man  long  to  shut  his 
eyes  to  such  plain  hints  from  Nature  ;  hence  pots  and  cups 
of  rudest  earthenware  form  the  only  record  of  many  peo- 
ples who  lived  before  history  began,  and  few  savages  are 
found  by  travelers  and  voyagers  at  the  present  day  who 
are  destitute  of  vessels  of  some  sort  fashioned  out  of  clay. 
The  ancient  Egyptians  were  clever  potters.  The  wheel 
employed  in  the  time  of  Moses  and  Pharaoh  does  not  dif- 
fer greatly  from  the  one  now  in  use,  while  it  constitutes  the 
earliest  "  machine  "  of  which  we  have  any  record.  As  is 
well  known,  the  Chinese  were  the  first  to  make  that  finer 
kind  of  pottery  to  which  the  term  porcelain  is  now  re- 
stricted, and  the  art  with  them  seems  to  have  reached  its 
highest  perfection  about  the  year  iooo  a.  d.  With  the 
"renaissance"  in  the  15th  century,  the  coarse  pottery  of 
Europe  began  to  be  improved.  In  Italy  it  was  raised  into 
Majolica,  Faienza,  Raffaelle,  and  Robbia  ware  ;  in  Hol- 
land improvement  took  the  less  beautiful  and  often  quaint 
form  of  Delft  ware  ;  in  England  the  well-known  Queen 
Elizabeth  ware  was  thought  wonderfully  fine,  and,  though 
extremely  coarse  according  to  modern  standards,  was  at 
least  an  improvement  upon  the  black-jack  and  drinking- 
horn  which  it  superseded.  All  such  works,  however,  owed 
their  value,  not  to  their  quality  as  porcelain,  but  to  the 
paintings  enameled  on  them  by  Raffaelle  or  his  pupils; 


The  Earth.  235 

to  the  skill  with  which  the  clay  had  been  modeled  by  Luca 
della  Robbia  and  Bernard  de  Palissy ;  or  to  the  quaint  and 
fantastic  forms  given  to  them  by  the  artists  of  Holland. 
And  there  is  no  saying  how  long  a  fine  paste  might  have 
been  wanting  to  enable  Europe  to  produce  porcelain  rival- 
ing that  of  China,  had  it  not  been  for  the  occurrence  of 
a  lucky  accident.  About  a  century  and  a  half  ago  it  hap- 
pened that  Dr.  Bottcher,  of  Magdeburg,  devoted  himself 
to  the  discovery  of  the  philosopher's  stone,  and  he  was 
probably  the  last  in  the  long  list  of  alchemists.  Dissatis- 
fied with  the  crucibles  then  in  use,  he  set  about  manufac- 
turing his  own ;  and,  from  the  experiments  he  was  led  to 
make,  he  acquired  a  practical  knowledge  of  the  pottery 
produced  from  common  clays.  At  this  critical  moment  it 
happened  that  the  Doctor  one  morning  found  his  well-pow- 
dered wig  unusually  heavy,  and  on  inquiry  he  learnt  that 
his  servant  had  ventured  to  introduce  to  his  notice,  without 
asking,  a  new  kind  of  hair-powder  which  had  just  come 
into  fashion,  and  of  which  the  material,  instead  of  being 
expensive  wheat  flour,  was  only  a  common  white  clay  that 
had  been  well  dried  and  finely  pounded.  Bottcher's  cru- 
cible experiments  instantly  suggested  to  him  that  this  clay 
would  make  an  admirable  white  "  paste  "  for  pottery,  and 
a  few  trials  satisfied  him  of  the  value  of  the  discovery. 
By  means  of  this  fine,  white  clay  he  in  fact  converted  com- 
mon earthenware  into  porcelain.  Favored  by  the  patron- 
age of  the  Duke  of  Saxony,  he  was  attached  to  the  man- 
ufactory at  Meisen,  from  which  specimens  of  porcelain 
immediately  began  to  be  issued  which  astonished  the  world 
of  art.  From  this  Saxon  root  the  most  famous  china- 
works  in  Europe  gradually  sprung  up.  For  a  long  time 
the  art  was  kept  a  profound  secret,  and  the  artists  were  as 
rigidly  secluded  in  their  manufactory  as  ever  nuns  were  in 
a  convent.  They  were  prizes  competed  for  by  the  different 
continental  Courts  ;  and,  under  the  temptation  of  high 
bribes,  some  of  them   from   time   to  time   escaped   from 


236  The  Earth. 

prison,  carrying  their  secret  with  them.  Most  of  the  early 
porcelain  manufactories  owed  their  origin  to  these  run- 
aways. The  most  remarkable  exception  was  that  at  Ber- 
lin, which  was  established  by  Frederick  the  Great  by 
means  of  workmen  whom  he  seized  as  prisoners  after  the 
successes  of  the  Seven  Years'  War.  Thus,  as  Fairholt 
observes,  the  last  of  the  alchemists,  though  he  did  not 
succeed  in  finding  the  philosopher's  stone  for  converting 
common  matters  into  gold,  made  a  discovery  hardly  less 
valuable,  by  which  a  substance  as  ordinary  as  clay  might 
be  changed  into  porcelain,  the  finest  specimens  of  which 
are  so  precious  as  to  be  worth  more  than  their  weight  in 
gold. 

Clay  consists  essentially  of  silica,  or  sand,  in  union  with 
the  oxide  of  a  bright  metal  which  has  assumed  a  homely 
working  dress  for  the  purpose  of  fitting  it  to  take  a  most 
useful  part  in  the  composition  of  the  soil.  To  the  clay 
thus  mixed  up  in  it  the  ground  is  indebted  for  some  of  its 
best  qualities  as  a  producer  of  food.  But  when  treated 
skillfully  by  the  chemist,  clay  casts  off  this  unattractive 
dress,  and  appears  as  the  metal  aluminium.  For  thousands 
of  years  "clay  had  been  handled  and  worked  without  its 
true  nature  having  been  suspected  ;  nor  was  it  until  the 
discoveries  of  Sir  Humphrey  Davy  had  proved  potash, 
soda,  and  magnesia  to  be  metallic  oxides,  that  a  similar 
nature  began  to  be  theoretically  imputed  to  clay.  Great 
was  the  sensation  in  the  chemical  world  when,  in  1827, 
Wohler  announced  the  discovery  of  the  long-looked-for 
metal  in  a  pure  state,  although,  from  the  difficulty  of  the 
process  of  extraction,  it  was  for  some  years  to  be  seen  only 
in  museums  or  at  scientific  conversazioni.  But  its  useful 
qualities  were,  nevertheless,  speedily  recognized,  and  it  at 
once  took  high  rank  among  the  metals.  Aluminium  pos- 
sesses the  quality  of  lightness  which  is  so  rare  among 
metals,  and  it  is  hard  and  white  like  silver,  though  much 
less  brilliant.     It  can  be  beaten  readily  into  plates  or  rolled 


The  Earth.  237 

out  into  wim,  and  it  is  not  tarnished  by  air  or  water  under 
ordinal  temperatures.  The  great,  but  assuredly  only  tem- 
porary drawr  ack  to  the  value  of  this  new  gift  has  been  the 
cost  of  producing  it ;  but  even  already  the  intelligent  in- 
dustry of  man  has  to  a  considerable  extent  triumphed  over 
that  difficulty.  In  the  Aluminium  Works  at  Newcastle 
many  tons  of  this  metal  are  annually  extracted  by  a  proc- 
ess which  admits  of  its  being  sold  at  a  comparatively 
cheap  price,  and  for  many  purposes  it  is  fast  coming  into 
general  use.  In  the  Industrial  Exhibition  of  1862  there 
was  a  beautiful  display  of  work,  both  useful  and  orna- 
mental, in  aluminium  ;.and  there  is  now  scarcely  a  bazaar 
which  does  not  offer  bracelets,  buckles,  and  other  light 
productions  manufactured  out  of  this  widely  diffused  metal. 

To  the  oxide  of  this  metal  —  alumina  —  obtained  by  an 
easy  process  from  common  alum,  we  are  indebted  for  the 
permanence  of  some  of  the  brightest  tints  used  in  calico- 
printing.  It  is  found  that  many  colors  have  little  affinity 
for  the  cotton  fibre,  so  that  while  they  readily  stain  it,  the 
stain  is  evanescent  and  disappears  in  washing.  Luckily 
for  the  dyer,  alumina  has  a  strong  affinity  at  once  for  the 
cotton  fibre  and  the  color,  and  holds  them  both  firmly 
united  in  its  grasp.  In  this  way  the  color  is  fixed  perma- 
nently, or  becomes,  as  it  is  termed,  "  fast." 

It  is  obviously  impossible  to  find  room  here  for  a  de- 
scription of  the  many  ways  in  which  metals  contribute  to 
our  happiness  or  comfort.  It  may  be  observed  generally 
that  there  is  even  more  marked  variety  in  the  properties 
of  metals  than  in  those  of  wood ;  nor  can  any  one  fail  to 
perceive  that  this  is  not  the  result  of  accident,  but  is  due 
to  the  forethought  with  which  Our  Father  has  provided  for 
the  wants  of  His  children,  by  increasing  the  range  of  the 
purposes  to  which  metals  are  applicable.  Thus  when 
strength  is  desired  we  have  the  giant,  iron,  at  our  beck  and 
call.  An  obdurate,  unwieldy  servant  in  his  rougher  shapes, 
we  tame  him  through  fire,  and  make  his  dull  force  yield  to 


238  The  Earth. 

our  skillful  weakness.  Powerful  in  our  knowledge,  we  sum- 
mon this  metal  to  sustain  our  houses  and  bridge  our  rivers, 
and  we  bend  and  roll  and  twist  and  fashion  it  as  we  please 
for  a  thousand  useful  purposes.  Do  we  want  a  medium  to 
help  on  commerce  by  making  clumsy  barter  unnecessary  ? 
there  is  gold.  Is  heaviness  required  ?  .it  is  to  be  found  in 
platinum  ;  or  lightness  ?  there  is  aluminium  ;  or  softness  ? 
there  is  lead  ;  or  brittleness  ?  there  is  antimony ;  or  flu- 
idity ?  there  is  mercury  ;  while  for  a  combination  of  many 
qualities  useful  in  domestic  life,  there  are  copper  and  tin. 
By  the  design  of  Providence  one  metal  appears  to  have 
been  created  to  supplement  the  deficiencies  of  another. 
Thus  iron,  strong  though  it  be,  yields  to  the  combined  at- 
tacks of  air  and  moisture.  But  by  sheathing  it  in  a  film 
of  zinc  or  tin  —  metals  which,  though  comparatively  weak, 
are  yet  less  sensitive  to  air  and  moisture  —  iron  gains  the 
priceless  quality  of  endurance.  By  the  skillful  union  of 
other  metals  the  chemist  knows  how  they  may  be  adapted 
to  almost  every  purpose.  Thus  the  value  of  the  metals  as 
a  gift  to  man  can  only  be  compared  to  that  of  wood  and 
stone,  to  which  it  is  supplementary.  In  bestowing  these 
three  blessings,  what  a  provision  has  been  made  by  Our 
Father  for  our  comfort ! 

Let  us  pass  to  another  compartment  of  the  storehouse, 
and  consider  the  beneficence  and^the  knowledge  of  our 
wants  with  which  the  rocks  of  the  earth  have  been 
treasured  up.  Fire  and  water,  under  the  formative  guid- 
ance of  the  Lord  of  Nature,  have  contributed  their  mighti- 
est forces  in  preparing  them  for  our  service,  and  have  split 
and  blocked  and  layered  them  into  shapes  convenient  for 
our  use.  Sometimes  they  are  cemented  into  huge  masses 
out  of  which  colossal  breakwaters  and  docks  may  be  con- 
structed. Some  rocks  cleave  readily  into  slices  for  our 
pavements ;  others  split  into  fine  plates  for  our  slates. 
Some  are  so  soft  that  they  may  be  cut  with  a  saw,  and  yet 
harden  firmly  when  exposed  to  the  air  •  others  are  so  hard 


The  Earth.  239 

that  iron  will  scarcely  scratch  them,  while  they  surpass 
that  metal  in  endurance.  The  rocks  yield  lime,  so  useful 
as  manure  ;  and  salt,  which  is  a  necessary  of  life.  Vast 
strata  of  coal  lie  cellared  in  the  earth.  These  blessings 
are  so  common,  and  are  so  intertwined  in  the  daily  expe- 
rience of  us  all,  that  it  appears  almost  to  be  trifling  to  re- 
capitulate them.  But  should  a  gift  be  less  formally  ac- 
knowledged because  it  is  given  abundantly  ?  Instead  of 
withholding  these  blessings  altogether,  or  bestowing  them 
niggardly,  He  has  diffused  them  everywhere  ;  but,  strange 
to  say,  it  is  this  very  lavishness  which  often  dulls  percep- 
tion, and  creates  the  danger  of  our  passing  by  without  a 
thought  of  gratitude.  All  occasionally  make  general  ad- 
missions of  their  obligations  ;  but  how  few  ever  stop  before 
a  quarry  or  a  coal-mine  to  quicken  their  gratitude  by 
thanking  God  specially  for  His  good  gift !  Yet  what 
abundant  evidence  is  afforded  by  every  quarry  of  God's 
providence  toward  us.  Is  it  a  small  thing  to  be  able  to 
think  and  to  know  that  long  before  we  came  into  existence 
Our  Father  was  already  caring  for  us  and  for  our  wants, 
and  was  already  "  preparing  the  dry  land,"  by  storing  it 
with  good  gifts  to  add  to  our  happiness  ? 

Let  us  for  a  moment  pause  to  survey  the  famous  quarry 
of  Craigleith,  and  try  to  estimate  the  shelter,  the  comfort, 
and  the  happiness  that  have  been  dug  out  of  that  vast 
chasm.  Stand  on  its  brink,  and  it  will  make  you  giddy  to 
look  down  into  the  fearful  gulf.  Far  away  in  its  lowest 
depths  you  descry  busy  workrflen  dwarfed  by  distance  into 
pygmies.  The  birds,  whom  your  approach  has  disturbed, 
hurriedly  cast  off,  and  seem  by  their  long  fluttering  as  if 
they  never  could  reach  the  opposite  shore  of  the  abyss. 
Descend  to  the  bottom  by  the  climbing  zigzag,  which  calls 
to  mind  some  engineering  triumph  in  the  Alps  ;  stand  in 
the  centre  —  look  round  —  and  then  try  to  realize  in  im- 
agination the  vastness  of  the  void  that  was  once  filled  up 
brimful  to  the  top  with  solid  stone.     Frowning  precipices 


240  The  Earth. 

rise  sheer  from  the  bottom  for  several  hundred  feet 
Perched  high  up  on  a  projecting  crag,  in  a  spot  which 
many  a  feudal  castle  might  envy,  the  giant  steam  noisily 
stretches  out  his  strong  arms  to  help  on  the  labors  of  the 
place.  One  stands  amazed  to  think  what  could  have  con- 
sumed and  swallowed  up  so  much  hard  rock.  Never  did 
earth  more  opportunely  bring  forth  her  hidden  treasures. 
An  ancient  capital  hard  by  had  outgrown  itself.  Cooped 
up  by  Nature  within  the  limits  of  a  narrow  ridge,  its 
streets,  with  a  single,  grand  exception  on  its  crest,  had 
been  squeezed  together  into  wynds  and  closes,  partly  from 
scantiness  of  space  and  partly  for  the  sake  of  aiding  de- 
fense in  troublous  times.  Dunedin  was  like  a  pent-up 
river  whose  waters  were  watching  for  a  chance  to  spring 
beyond  their  old  confinements.  Suddenly  the  citizens 
broke  through  the  spell  of  custom  and  tradition.  The 
old  gate  was  passed,  the  swampy  North  Loch  was  bridged 
over,  the  green  fields  on  the  other  side  were  reached  ;  and 
then  arose  a  city  —  the  like  of  which  had  never  been  seen 
before.  Nearly  every  stone  that  left  this  vast  void  was 
built  into  that  new  town  of  Edinburgh,  whose  glory,  next 
to  its  matchless  site,  is  the  beautiful  rock  of  Craigleith 
quarry. 

From  the  observations  just  made  it  appears  that  the 
crust  of  the  earth  may  be  regarded  as  little  else  than  a 
storehouse  filled  with  good  gifts  from  Our  Father  for  the 
purpose  of  ministering  to  our  happiness ;  and  surely  the 
consideration  of  this  truth  ought  to  suggest  to  us  the  pro- 
priety, or  rather  the  duty,  of  turning  them  if  possible  to 
account  in  His  service,  and  of  making  them,  as  far  as 
may  be,  the  visible  expressions  of  our  thankfulness.  Let 
us  first  endeavor,  as  carefully  as  we  can,  to  clear  the 
ground  for  the  observations  about  to  be  made.  God  is  a 
Spirit,  and  we  know  that  the  works  of  our  hands,  how  per- 
fect soever  they  may  be,  can  have  intrinsically  no  value  in 
His  eyes.     But  we  are,  at  the  same  time,  distinctly  assured 


The  Earth.  241 

that  it  is  possible  to  do  every  thing  to  His  glory,  and  we 
are  enjoined  so  to  do  it.  "Whatsoever  ye  do,  do  all  to 
the  glory  of  God."  Nothing  is  excepted  —  no  act  is 
either  so  great  or  so  small  as  to  be  beyond  the  circle  of 
this  command.  By  it  we  learn  that  it  is  the  motive  which 
sanctifies. .  Unless  the  motive  be  God's  glory,  the  finest 
work  sinks  into  worthlessness ;  but,  hallowed  by  that  mo- 
tive, the  smallest  offering  is  graciously  accepted. 

One  way  by  which  we  endeavor  to  promote  God's  glory 
is  the  building  of  churches,  and  in  this  act  especially  we 
seem  to  be  turning  the  materials  of  the  earth  to  account, 
and  to  be  dedicating  them  to  His  service.  In  what  mind, 
then,  ought  we  to  undertake  this  duty  ?  Is  it  consistent 
with  the  feeling  of  gratitude  and  propriety,  or  even  of  de- 
cency, that  His  temple  should  be  raised  barely  and  meanly 
when  we  have  it  in  our  power  to  do  more  ?  The  widow's 
mite  was  highly  valued  because  it  was  the  utmost  she  could 
give  ;  but  if  she  had  possessed  more  it  would  not  have 
been  so  considered.  Ought  we  not  then  to  follow  out  this 
principle  as  far  as  we  can,  and  to  give  our  best  ?  Can 
it  be  right  that,  while  we  deem  no  architectural  beauty  too 
good  for  our  own  dwellings,  we  should  be  satisfied  with 
His  House  being  only  a  little  better  than  a  barrack  — 
when  it  is  in  our  power  to  do  more  ?  While  we  adorn  our 
palaces  with  every  thing  which  good  taste  can  obtain  from 
the  sculptor  or  the  painter,  can  it  be  right  to  consider  the 
carpenter  and  the  plasterer  good  enough  artists  for  the 
church  —  if  we  have  it  in  our  power  to  do  more  ?  Or 
while  we  fill  our  concert  rooms  with  finest  music,  shall  we 
celebrate  His  praise  in  the  sanctuary  in  hymns  that  are 
often  discordant  to  healthy  ears  —  when  we  have  it  in  our 
power  to  do  more  ? 

We  would  rather  be  among  those  whose  rule  it  is  to  do 
their  best  for  God's  glory,  than  with  others  who  are  con- 
tent to  consider  what  is  inferior  or  easy  to  be  had  as  good 
enough  for  the  adornment   of  His    House.     Scarcely  do 

16 


242  The  Earth. 

they  seem  to  understand  or  appreciate  their  high  privilege 
when  they  withhold  what  ought  gladly  and  lovingly  to  be 
laid  upon  the  altar.  These  services  are  in  themselves  true 
offerings,  yet  not  less  are  they  due  on  the  lower,  yet  still 
high,  ground  of  consistency  and  fitness,  for  they  seem  to  be 
only  the  natural  outward  expression  of  our  gratitude.  Surely 
it  will  not  be  denied  that  the  feeling  is  good,  or  that  the 
principle  of  offering  the  best  in  our  power  wherever  the 
service  of  God  is  in  question,  must  be  right  and  safe. 
Though  paradoxical,  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  giving  lib- 
erally for  such  purposes  does  not  practically  diminish  the 
sources  from  which  the  means  are  drawn.  There  probably 
never  was  a  case  yet  where  one  church  remained  unbuilt, 
because  another  had  been  suitably  adorned  ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  think  it  may  be  safely  asserted  that  the 
aspect  of  a  church  whose  fitting  adornments  inspired  de- 
votional feeling  has  often  acted  as  a  stimulus  to  help  on 
similar  works.  We  may  rest  assured  that,  when  our  all 
has  been  done,  we  have  equally  fallen  short  of  His  glory 
and  our  own  obligations. 

Let  us  for  a  moment  consider  how  our  pious  forefathers 
acted  in  this  matter.  They  invariably  built  churches  to 
the  best  of  their  knowledge  of  art,  and  adorned  them  to 
the  best  of  the  means  that  lay  within  their  reach.  The 
works  that  have  come  down  to  us  from  mediaeval  times 
attest  how  carefully  they  were  originally  built  and  set  apart 
for  God's  service.  The  most  skillful  master-masons  were 
employed,  the  most  beautiful  stone  that  could  be  procured 
was  brought  even  from  distant  sources.  The  Norman 
Bishop  Walkelyn  built  his  new  Cathedral  at  Winchester 
1  witli  materials  brought  from  quarries  in  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
and  the  beautiful  white  stone  of  Caen  was  in  request  for 
the  decoration  of  God's  House  from  a  very  early  period. 
Our  forefathers,  however,  were  limited  in  their  materials 
for  decoration,  and  hence  their  architectural  adornments 
chiefly  took  the  form  of  column,  arch,  and  tracery.     When 


The  Earth.  243 

we  consider  the  ecclesiastical  works  —  the  cathedrals  and 
churches  —  erected  in  the  13th,  14th,  and  15th  centuries, 
in  relation  to  the  resources  from  which  they  were  produced, 
we  are  equally  impressed  with  the  earnest  purpose  of  our 
forefathers,  and  humbled  at  our  own  supineness.  Happily 
in  these  latest  days  church  architecture  has  revived,  and 
all  denominations  of  Christians  now  vie  with"  each  other  in 
taking  advantage  of  its  taste  and  resources. 

The  internal  adornment  of  churches  has  also  much  im- 
proved of  late,  although  there  is  some  difference  of  opinion 
as  to  the  extent  to  which  it  ought  to  be  carried.  In  a  diffi- 
culty of  this  nature  it  is  surely  safe  to  apply  the  principle 
that  we  are  to  "  do  the  best  that  lies  in  our  power  ;  "  nor 
need  we  fear  that  we  shall  do  too  much,  so  long  as  orna- 
mentation is  governed  by  good  taste,  suitableness,  and  de- 
votional feeling.  To  what  more  elevating  use  can  man 
apply  the  woods  and  the  metals,  the  stone  and  the  mar- 
bles, with  which  this  earth  has  been  blessed  for  his  sake, 
than  in  dedicating  them  to  the  service  of  his  Maker?  or 
how  can  man  better  employ  sculpture  and  painting  —  the 
direct  offspring  of  those  talents  which  are  the  special  gift 
of  God  —  than  by  devoting  them  to  His  honor  ?  It  surely 
cannot  be  otherwise  than  right  and  consistent,  when  we 
are  enjoined  to  "  do  all  to  the  glory  of  God,"  that  the  best 
fruits  of  the  talents  with  which  God  has  endowed  man 
should  be  humbly  dedicated  to  the  glory  of  Him  who 
created  them.  Can  we  believe  that  Fra  Bartolomeo  was 
wrong  when  he  studied  painting  in  order  that  he  might 
devote  his  art  to  the  illustration  of  his  Master's  life  ;  or 
that  Michael  Angelo  was  wrong  when  he  dedicated  the 
best  years  of  his  life  to  labor  at  St.  Peter's  as  architect, 
sculptor,  and  painter,  for  the  "  love  of  God  "  ? 

Marbles  were  little  known  in  this  country  in  the  olden 
time,  but  our  forefathers  were  glad  to  make  use  of  them 
when  they  fell  within  reach,  as  in  Sussex  and  elsewhere  ; 
and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  they  would  have  turned 


244  The  Earth. 

them  still  more  extensively  to  account  had  it  been  within 
their  power.  Marbles  are  the  flowers  of  the  rocks,  traced 
out  and  colored  by  God's  own  hand ;  and  they  serve  to 
remind  us  that  He  has  not  stopped  short  in  His  benefi- 
cence at  the  point  where  our  bare  wants  were  supplied,  but 
has  been  pleased  to  add  the  charm  of  beauty,  over  and 
above,  in  order  to  gratify  His  children.  For  what  other 
purpose,  indeed,  is  it  conceivable  that  God  should  have 
made  marble  beautiful,  since,  of  all  creatures  on  this  earth, 
man  alone  has  been  gifted  with  faculties  capable  of  enjoy- 
ing it.  Considered  under  this  point  of  view,  the  flowers 
of  the  rocks  seem  peculiarly  suitable  for  church  decora- 
tion. 

Our  forefathers  in  mediaeval  times  liberally  employed  the 
best  sculpture  of  their  day ;  but  while  we  admire  the  devo- 
tional feeling  which  often  spread  a  charm  over  their  works, 
even  when  poor  art  marred  artistic  success,  it  would  surely 
be  a  great  mistake  in  us  were  we  to  aim  at  reproducing 
any  of  their  defects.  In  those  days  anatomy  was  almost 
unknown,  and  art  was  too  often  found  in  alliance  with  bad 
taste  and  incongruity.  These  errors  come  down  to  us 
softened  by  the  lapse  of  time,  and  the  motive  which  pro- 
duced them  covers  them  with  our  respect ;  but  shall  we,  in 
our  turn,  be  "  doing  our  best "  if,  with  better  knowledge 
of  anatomy  and  greater  technical  power,  we  aim  at  nothing 
higher  than  imitation  ?  With  still  stronger  reason  figures 
twisted  into  impossible  attitudes,  exaggerations,  monstrosi- 
ties, and  other  inconsistencies  ought  to  be  avoided.  The 
strange  cloister-jokes  and  fancies  often  cleverly  carved  in 
wood  or  stone  are  scarcely  excused  by  the  want  of  refine- 
ment which  then  universally  prevailed  ;  but,  if  it  were  only 
because  they  are  falsifications,  they  are  clearly  out  of  place 
in  the  House  of  Truth.  One  can  hardly  understand  a 
sculptor  hewing  out  grotesque  impish  figures  as  fit  decora- 
tions for  any  part  of  God's  Temple.  Surely  these  cannot 
be  held  as  suited  in  any  way  to  promote  His  glory,  and 


The  Earth.  245 

therefore  they  ought  to  be  excluded  from  the  Sanctuary, 
every  part  of  which  is  consecrated  to  His  service.  If 
sculpture  in  churches  be  in  any  degree  allowable,  it  can 
only  be  when  it  is  calculated  to  excite  emotions  of  rever 
ence  and  devotion,  not  of  mirth  or  levity.  The  Sacred 
Volume  is  an  inexhaustible  source  from  which  subjects 
both  suitable  and  beautiful  may  be  selected.  Wherever 
the  standard  of  religious  propriety  is  departed  from,  deco- 
ration in  the  sacred  edifice  easily  degenerates  into  dese- 
cration. 

A  custom  became  common  about  the  beginning  of  last 
century,  which,  viewed  by  the  light  of  taste  and  consist- 
ency and  not  through  the  medium  of  sentiment  and  associ- 
ation, must  be  held  to  have  done  much  to  disfigure  the 
interior  of  our  churches.  It  had  its  origin  in  that  praise- 
worthy feeling  which  loves  to  cherish  the  memory  of  the 
dead ;  but  its  effect  has  been  to  cause  the  walls  to  be  stuck 
round  with  monumental  records,  in  the  framing  of  which 
more  bad  taste  has  been  displayed  than,  perhaps,  on  any 
other  feature  within  the  church.  Many  a  chancel  has  thus 
been  fitted  up  in  a  style  which  brings  to  mind  the  workshop 
of  a  Kensal  Green  sculptor.  Square,  printed  "bills"  of 
marble,  with  deep,  black  edgings,  are  plentifully  posted 
about.  There  are  skulls  —  idealized  in  their  repulsiveness, 
reposing  on  crossed  thigh-bones  of  curious  shapes  not  to 
be  found  in  Nature,  and  flanked  —  supporter-wise  —  by 
monster  hour-glasses.  There  are  mantel-pieces  let  into  the 
walls,  with  inscribed  slabs  where  the  grate  should  be. 
There  are  mortuaiy  chests  piled  one  on  the  top  of  the 
other ;  urns  like  overgrown  soup-tureens,  wine-coolers  with 
sloping  pail-lids,  and  tall  pots  that  caricature  Etruscan 
vases.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  nearly  all  the 
objects  here  mentioned  may  sometimes  be  seen  collected 
within  the  walls  of  a  single  parish  church.  In  the  nave  of 
Westminster  Abbey  there  are  certainly  some  exceptions  ; 
nevertheless  its  general  character  is  too  much  that  of  a 


246  The  Earth. 

museum  of  monumental  rococoism.  Out  of  respect  for 
the  dead  let  us  accept  what  has  been  bequeathed,  but  it  is 
surely  time  to  substitute  something  better  than  this  ques- 
tionable custom  for  the  future. 

It  seems  strange  that  while  the  aid  of  sculpture  in  dec- 
orating God's  House  has  been,  more  or  less,  almost  uni- 
versally accepted,  the  service  of  its  twin-sister,  painting, 
has  often  been  altogether  repudiated.  We  know  not  any 
good  reason  why  this  should  be,  or  why  the  work  of  the 
pencil  should  be  accounted  evil,  while  that  of  the  chisel 
is  held  to  be  good.  The  question  is  one  to  be  decided 
by  judgment,  and  not  by  the  mixture  of  feelings  engen- 
dered by  association  which  is  often  mistaken  for  principle. 
There  is  nothing  that  can  be  said  in  favor  of  sculpture,  or 
other  architectural  ornamentation,  which  cannot  likewise 
be  said  in  favor  of  painting ;  and  if  it  be  alleged  that 
painting  is  disqualified  for  Protestant  churches  because 
it  has  been  abused  in  other  churches,  the  same  thing 
may  be  said  of  sculpture  and  every  other  kind  of  embel- 
lishment. Both  equally  represent  the  employment  in 
God's  service  of  the  talents  with  which  He  has  blessed 
His  children.  Both  come  into  the  church  by  the  same 
title  — that  they  are  done  "to  the* glory  of  God."  And  if, 
in  addition,  the  ideas  they  suggest  penetrate  to  the  mind 
and  touch  the  feelings,  surely  they  are  both  serving  as  in- 
nocent means  toward  a  good  end.  The  principle  of  the 
admissibility  of  painting  appears,  indeed,  to  be  so  gener- 
ally conceded  in  practice  that  it  seems  inconsistent  to  deny 
it  in  theory.  Nearly  all  denominations  now  consider 
themselves  free  to  admire  the  paintings  that  adorn  the  win- 
dows of  their  churches,  and  we  do  not  see  how  they  can 
with  consistency  object  on  principle  to  representations  of 
similar  subjects  painted  upon  the  walls.  Is  it,  for  ex- 
ample, a.  right  thing  to  depict  the  "  Ascension  "  upon  glass; 
and  a  wrong  thing  to  take  the  very  same  drawing  and  the 
same  colors,  and  lay  them  upon  plaster  ?     At  all  events, 


The  Earth,  247 

the  principle  which  sanctions  the  one  cannot  logically  be 
turned  against  the  other.  We  give  no  opinion  as  to  how 
far  painting  should  be  employed  in  decoration.  Judgment 
and  good  taste,  to  say  nothing  of  the  difficulty  of  procur- 
ing it  of  a  sufficiently  high  degree  of  merit,  will  always 
circumscribe  its  employment,  and  practically  almost  con- 
fine it  to  cathedrals  and  other  great  churches.  Better,  too, 
that  it  should  be  altogether  omitted  than  introduced  at  the 
cost  of  congregational  discord.  No  one  would  desire  to 
see  this  or  any  other  kind  of  church  ornamentation  pushed 
to  excess,  for  it  is  extravagance  which  so  often  casts  a 
blight  over  what  is  really  good. 

The  inscription  of  illuminated  text  scrolls  over  arches 
and  in  other  appropriate  situations  seems  a  very  suitable 
kind  of  ornamentation.  It  produces  a  pleasing  effect  in 
the  parish  church  by  relieving  the  large  bare  spaces  of 
white,  and  adding  to  the  distinctness  of  architectural  out- 
line. Another  advantage  is  that,  while  painting  and 
sculpture  must  always  be  rare  from  their  costliness,  the 
suitable  execution  of  these  texts  is  seldom  beyond  the  re- 
sources of  a  congregation,  assisted  by  such  art  as  may  be 
found  in  almost  every  country  town.  Nor  are  these  scrolls 
without  a  higher  aim  and  use.  They  are  read  over  and 
over  by  young  and  old  ;  and  every  time  this  simple  act  is 
performed  there  is  the  chance  that  some  good  feeling  may 
be  touched.  They  are  sacred  words  placed  favorably  to 
catch  the  eye,  and  appealing  week  after  week  to  the  hopes, 
the  affections,  and  the  consciences  of  the  congregation. 
Often  they  arrest  the  wandering  thought  and  turn  it  back 
more  fitted  than  before  to  join  again  in  the  Service  of  the 
Church. 

If  it  be  right  to  sing  unto  the  Lord  in  His  House, 
surely  it  must  be  right  not  only  to  raise  that  "  melody  in 
our  hearts  "  which  is  the  most  precious  quality  of  praise, 
but  also  to  make  the  outward  expression  of  it  the  best  that 
it  is  in  our  power  to  offer.     What  that  best  is  must  be  left, 


248  The  Earth. 

as  in  the  case  of  sculpture  and  painting,  to  be  regulated 
by  the  standard  of  propriety  and  devotional  fitness.  The 
only  limit  that  need  be  put  to  the  style  of  music  adopted 
is  that  it  shall  be  devotional  in  its  character,  and  within 
the  power  of  the  congregation  to  execute,  or  at  least  to 
join  in.  The  difficulties  and  "effects  "  into  which  parish 
choirs  are  sometimes  tempted  are  no  less  misplaced  than 
excess  in  sculpture  and  painting,  and  while  they  display 
skill,  have  occasionally  the  result  of  excluding  the  congre- 
gation from  the  Service  altogether.  Within  the  limit 
above  assigned  there  is  range  enough  to  occupy  the  best 
means  that  can  be  brought  to  bear.  There  is  no  grace  in 
praising  like  fervor,  and  a  too  elaborate  choral  display, 
how  beautiful  soever  it  may  be  in  itself,  goes  beyond  the 
real  aim  of  congregational  singing,  and,  by  checking  or 
silencing  it,  tempts  one  to  wish  for  another  Gregory  to 
sweep  away  redundancies,  introduce  simplicity,  and  impart 
devotional  feeling. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  make  any  estimate  of  the  compar- 
ative value  of  these  "  aids  "  to  devotion.  Much  depends 
on  the  peculiar  mental  impressionability  and  associations 
of  the  individual,  and  probably  in  no  two  persons  would 
the  standard  be  the  same.  We  seek  here  to  establish 
nothing  more  than  the  principle  that,  as  they  were  all 
given  for  our  use,  not  one  of  them  should  be  neglected. 
A  touching  allusion  to  the  Cross,  for  example,  may  excite 
the  same  religious  feeling  in  the  mind  whether  it  be 
spoken,  printed,  painted,  or  sculptured.  Who  or  what 
gave  one  sense  the  monopoly  in  things  religious  over  all 
the  others  ?  What  is  there  that  so  exclusively  fits  the  ear 
T.  to  promote  adoration,  and  which  so  rigidly  excludes  the 
eye  ?  Does  the  whole  substance  of  religion  consist  of 
creed  only,  and  has  feeling  no  part  in  it?  Is  there  no 
such  thing  as  love,  pity,  or  sympathy  in  it  ?  If  such  emo- 
tions form  any  part  of  religion,  then  every  means  that  can 
rouse  them  becomes  of  use,  and  was  given  for  the  purpose. 


The  Earth.  249 

Provided  the  idea  reaches  the  mind  it  signifies  little  how  it 
came  there,  whether  its  starting-point  was  a  star,  a  plant,  a 
statue,  a  picture,  words  spoken,  or  letters  printed.     They 
are  all  equally  symbols  and  means  to  an  end.     If  they  fail 
to  send  on  the  idea  to  its  goal,  they  are  all  equally  worth- 
less ;  but  if  they  succeed  in  doing  this,  they  are  all  useful. 
Were  we   more  perfect  we  might  possibly  dispense  with 
many  aids ;  but,  being  as  we  are,  we  cannot  afford  to  lose 
even  the  least  of  those  that  have  been  given  to  us.     It  is 
true  that  some  feel  the  meaning  of  a  symbol,  and  some  do 
not ;  but  why  should  they  who  can  profit  by  such  appeals 
be  deprived  of  them  because  there  are  others  on  whom 
they  are  lost  ?     Excess  is  always  wrong,  and  a  sparing  use 
of  symbolism  in  church  adornment  is  perhaps  expedient. 
We  know  with  what  force  association   molds  conviction, 
and  this  is  a  point  on  which  much  may  be  yielded  to  opin- 
ion or  even  to  prejudice.     But  supposing  it  were  possible 
to  surround  ourselves  in  every  direction  with  symbols  of 
God's  attributes,  what  other  result   than  our   advantage 
could  arise  ?  what  monitors  for  good,  what  shields  against 
evil  they  would  be !     Yet,  if  we  look  meditatively  around, 
is  not  this  in  reality  our  own  position  ?     God  has  encom- 
passed us    on  every  side  with  symbols   that  recall  Him 
to  our  thoughts,  and  it  is  habitual  neglect  alone  which 
makes  them  profitless.     What  object  is  there  in  Nature 
which  does    not    in  some  way  suggest  His    Power,  Wis- 
dom, or  Goodness  ?     Thus  were  these  objects  used  by  the 
Three  Children  of  old,  and  thus  may  they  be  profitably 
used  by  ourselves. 

If  there  be  any  kind  of  adornment  which  more  than 
another  seems  fitted  to  God's  House,  it  is  that  thoughtful 
use  of  the  "  green  things  upon  the  earth  "  with  which  our 
churches  are  decorated  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year. 
Flowers  are  the  painted  sculpturings  of  Nature  —  the 
shapes  and  colors  of  beauty  which  the  Creator  has  lav- 
ished upon  the  world,  and  surely  they  can  never  be  em- 


250  The  Earth. 

ployed  for  a  better  purpose.  In  the  church  flowers  sug- 
gest thoughts  that  are  in  unison  with  the  occasion.  Who 
does  not  understand  the  signs  of  joyfulness  which  they  ex- 
press at  Christmas  and  Easter ;  and  do  they  not  some- 
times serve  to  quicken  our  sympathy  for  those  who  stand 
around  the  font  ?  These  are  small  matters  ;  but  let  us 
throw  nothing  away  that  tends  to  good.  The  time  and 
care  thus  bestowed  on  the  adornment  of  the  parish  church 
are  not  without  their  reward.  Pious  thoughts  arise  while 
skillful  fingers  are  busy  with  the  work,  which,  as  it  is  done 
for  the  sake  of  God's  honor,  must  from  its  very  nature  be 
linked  with  good  to  all  concerned  in  it. 

Whoso  offrreth  Me  praise  glorifieth  Me.  —  Ps.  1. 


GREEN  THINGS    UPON  THE   EARTH. 


O  all  ye  Green  Things  upon  the  Earth,  bless  ye  the  Lord :  praise 
Him,  and  magnify  Him  for  ever. 

N  considering  the  green  things  upon  the  earth  we 
are  in  turn  impressed  by  their  beauty,  their  use- 
1  fulness,  and  the  wisdom  of  design  displayed  in 
their  creation.  Everywhere  we  see  plants  fitted  to  the  dif- 
ferent conditions  involved  in  the  various  climates  of  the 
earth  —  to  the  length  of  the  day,  which  regulates  the 
amount  of  light  and  heat  they  are  to  receive  —  and  to  the 
duration  of  the  year,  within  the  compass  of  whose  seasons 
the  cycle  of  their  functions  —  growing,  flowering,  and 
fruit-ripening  —  must  be  completed.  If  the  axial  rotation 
of  the  globe  were  a  little  quicker  or  a  little  slower,  the 
length  of  the  day  would  be  different  from  what  it  now  is, 
and  the  actual  conditions  of  plants  would  be  disturbed. 
If  the  earth  under  less  perfect  adjustment  were  placed 
nearer  the  sun,  plants  would  be  overwhelmed  in  a  flood 
of  heat  and  light.  Or,  again,  if  the  orbital  speed  of  the 
earth  were  greater  or  less  than  it  is,  the  length  of  the  year 
would  be  altered,  and  the  whole  routine  of  the  annual 
functions  of  plants  would  be  thrown  into  disorder.  Even 
as  it  is,  we  know  the  confusion  which  arises  in  the  garden 
from  a  summer  prolonged  far  into  autumn,  or  from  a  too 
early  spring.  In  reality,  we  observe  that  the  Creator  has 
everywhere  endowed  plants,  in  regard  to  their  external 
relations,  with  the  exact  constitution  which  insures  their 
well-being. 
Dr.  Whewell  has  well  pointed  out  the  harmony  subsist- 


252         Green   Things  upon  the  Earth. 

ing  between  the  functions  and  structure  of  plants  and  that 
law  of  gravitation  which  rules  the  universe.  Had  the 
earth  been  more  or  less  dense  than  it  actually  is  —  had  its 
size  been,  a  little  larger  or  a  little  smaller  —  had  its  dis- 
tance from  the  sun  much  exceeded  or  greatly  fallen  short 
of  92  millions  of  miles,  the  influence  of  gravity  over 
every  thing  on  the  earth  would  be  different  from  what  it 
now  is,  and  the  whole  machinery  of  animal  and  vegetable 
life  would  be  thrown  off  its  balance.  The  sap  of  plants, 
for  example,  rises  from  the  root  into  the  stem,  and  from 
the  stem  into  the  leaves,  against  the  power  of  gravity. 
Now  the  force  which  urges  on  this  stream  is  exactly  ad- 
justed to  the  weight  that  has  to  be  lifted ;  but  it  is  clear 
that  if,  from  any  of  the  causes  mentioned,  the  gravity,  or 
weight,  of  the  sap  were  increased,  'the  force  which  now 
suffices  to  raise  it  would  be  too  weak  for  the  purpose ;  or 
if  the  weight  of  the  sap  were  less,  the  force  now  moving  it 
would  be  out  of  proportion,  and  destruction  of  the  plant 
would  inevitably  ensue. 

We  see  also  that  the  strength  of  the  framework  of  plants 
has  been  nicely  calculated  on  the  same  principle.  The 
thickness  of  the  stem,  the  tapering  of  the  branches,  the 
weight  of  the  leaves,  flowers,  and  fruit,  are  all  modeled,  to 
a  grain,  on  the  actual  astronomical  conditions  in  which  the 
earth  is  placed.  Were  terrestrial  gravity  greater  than  it 
now  is  every  thing  would  weigh  more  than  it  now  does  ; 
or,  in  other  words,  the  force  with  which  the  earth  pulls 
every  thing  toward  its  centre  would  be  increased.  The 
trunk  of  the  tree,  which  we  now  see  towering  into  the  air 
as  a  symbol  of  strength,  would  be  unable  to  support  the 
branches,  and  the  branches  would  be  overpowered  by  the 
leaves.  The  blossoms  and  the  fruit  would  break  down  the 
stalks  that  hold  them  up,  the  valleys  would  no  longer  be 
adorned  with  wavy  corn,  for  it,  as  well  as  the  grass,  would 
be  dragged  prostrate  to  the  ground.  But  by  the  wise  de- 
sign of  the  Creator,  stem,  branches,  leaves,  flowers,  and 


Green    Things  upon  the  Earth.       253 

fruit  have  been  framed  in  accordance  with  the  weight  they 
have  to  carry  ;  the  weight  is  regulated  by  the  attraction  of 
the  earth ;  and  this,  again,  is  in  exact  proportion  to  the 
size,  density,  and  distance  of  the  sun  and  planets.  Every 
minute  microscopic  fibre  throughout  the  whole  vegetable 
world  has  been  created  in  exact  relation  to  this  principle, 
and  in  nothing,  perhaps,  is  the  fact  more  beautifully  illus- 
trated than  in  plants  which,  like  the  fuchsia,  the  arbutus, 
or  the  snow-drop,  incline  their  flowers  in  graceful  pendants. 
As  a  general  rule  flowers  are  erect,  and  the  stamens  are 
longer  than  the  pistils,  in  order  that  the  pollen,  or  fructify- 
ing powder,  may  naturally  fall  on  the  stigma,  or  germ.  It 
is  obvious,  however,  that  if  these  relative  proportions  as  to 
length  had  existed  in  drooping  plants,  the  stamens  would 
have  been  placed  lower  down  than  the  pistils  ;  and,  conse- 
quently, the  pollen  when  set  free  would  have  fallen  to  the 
ground  without  coming  into  contact  with  the  pistil.  But, 
by  an  obviously  designed  departure  from  the  usual  plan, 
the  comparative  length  of  the  stamens  and  pistils  has  been 
reversed  in  drooping  flowers,  by  which  means  the  anthers 
are  made  to  occupy  their  ordinary  superior  position  ;  and, 
consequently,  when  the  pollen  is  set  free  it  naturally  falls 
upon  the  stigma,  placed  below  it.  In  noticing  this  exqui- 
site adjustment  Dr.  Whewell  observes,  —  "  We  have  here 
a  little  mechanical  contrivance  which  would  have  been 
frustrated  if  the  proper  intensity  of  gravity  had  not  been 
assumed  in  the  reckoning."  "There  is  something  curious 
in  thus  considering  the  whole  mass  of  the  earth  from  pole 
to  pole,  and  from  circumference  to  centre,  as  employed  in 
keeping  a  snow-drop  in  the  position  most  suited  to  the 
promotion  of  its  vegetable  health." 

And  all  men  that  see  it  shall  say,  This  hath  God  done;  for  they  shall  per- 
ceive that  it  is  God's  work.  —  Ps.  lxiv. 

The  love  of  flowers  exists  within  us  almost  as  a  part  of 
our  nature.     It  calls  forth  some  of  the  first  cries  of  admira- 


254        Green   Tilings  upon  the  Earth. 

tion  in  the  infant,  and,  by  clinging  to  us  through  life,  strews 
many  an  innocent  pleasure  on  the  way.  In  the  daisies, 
the  buttercups,  the  dandelions,  and  other  wild  flowers 
which  the  hand  of  childhood  eagerly  grasps,  or  twines  into 
garlands  and  wreaths,  we  behold  the  earliest  treasures  of 
life.  Even  more  especially  do  the  "  green  things  upon  the 
earth  "  merit  our  regard  for  their  usefulness.  Plants  give 
us  houses  for  shelter  and  ships  for  commerce,  and  medi- 
cines with  which  to  combat  disease.  They  feed  us  and 
they  clothe  us.  Often  we  may  see  the  fields  decked  with 
the  blue  flowers  of  a  plant  which  for  its  own  beauty's  sake 
obtains  a  welcome  in  many  a  garden  border,  but  which  is 
largely  cultivated  on  the  farm  to  yield  a  most  useful  cloth- 
ing. It  is  the  common  flax.  From  the  earliest  days  of 
Babylon  and  Egypt  this  plant  has  never  ceased  to  be  a 
blessing  to  mankind.  Specimens  of  linen  as  old  as  the 
Pharaohs,  wrapped  in  endless  coils  round  shrunken  Inum- 
mies,  have  survived  to  our  own  time  ;  while  paintings  on 
the  walls  of  Theban  tombs  show  us  with  minuteness  the 
process  of  its  manufacture,  and  prove  that  it  was  then  es- 
sentially the  same  as  now.  In  creating  the  flax-plant  God 
gave  to  man  a  thread  which  by  its  tenacity  and  flexibility 
is  particularly  adapted  to  be  ntade  into  clothing,  while 
from  its  hardy  constitution  it  is  widely  spread  over  the 
world.  Thus  it  thrives  on  the  mountain  slopes  of  India, 
as  well  as  in  Northern  Europe  and  America.  In  this  wide 
distribution  it  has  the  superiority  over  its  twin-blessing  — 
cotton  ;  for  the  latter  is  limited  to  the  warmer  regions  of 
the  globe,  and  attains  perfection  in  comparatively  few  of 
them. 

The  cotton-plant  was  also  from  remote  times  known  in 
the  valleys  of  the  Euphrates  and  the  Nile,  and  was  aptly 
termed  by  ancient  writers  the  "  fleece-bearing  tree."  From 
the  more  complicated  preparations  required  for  its  conver- 
sion into  cloth,  it  did  not,  however,  come  into  such  gen- 
eral use  as  flax  at  an  early  period.     It  was  little  known  in 


Green   Things  tip  on  the  Earth.        255 

England  till  the  reign  of  Charles  I.,  when  it  was  meritori- 
ously introduced  by  the  East  India  Company,  which  was 
then  in  its  infancy.  So  long  as  it  was  manufactured  into 
cloth  by  hand  its  use  was  necessarily  much  restricted ;  but 
at  length  Providence,  in  order  to  extend  its  usefulness,  in- 
spired our  countrymen  with  the  invention  of  the  needful 
machinery.  In  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century  three 
men  arose  within  a  few  years  of  each  other  —  Hargreave, 
Arkwright,  and  Compton  —  whose  ingenuity  produced  the 
spinning-jenny  (1767),  the  spinning-frame  (1775),  and  the 
spinning-mule  (1779),  which  have  brought  good  and  cheap 
clothing  within  easy  reach  of  a  large  portion  of  the  human 
race.  There  are,  in  fact,  few  inhabited  spots  upon  the  earth 
into  which  machinery-manufactured  cotton  has  not  pene- 
trated, and  more  families,  perhaps,  owe  their  daily  bread 
to  it  than  to  any  other  branch  of  industry.  Distributed 
everywhere,  this  little  plant  has  also  become  a  great  agent 
in  the  spread  of  civilization  ;  and,  as  the  missionary  often 
enters  with  the  merchant,  it  may  likewise  be  considered  as 
assisting  in  the  propagation  of  true  religion.  Certain  it 
is  that  the  way  to  many  a  heathen  tribe  would  have  re- 
mained barred  against  every  Christian  effort,  but  for  the 
opening  which  the  cotton  traffic  prepared  for  it. 

The  history  of  the  cotton-plant  points  to  something 
more  elevated  than  commerce  and  manufactures.  When 
we  consider  that  the  time  of  its  introduction  into  England 
coincided  with  the  commencing  expansion  of  our  trade  — 
that  in  the  course  of  a  centuiy  afterward,  when  the  popu- 
lation of  the  world  had  much  increased  and  had  become 
accustomed  to  its  use,  the  needful  machinery  was  invented, 
by  which  the  cloth  might  be  produced  to  an  extent  some- 
what in  proportion  to  the  demand  —  when  we  think  of  the 
perfection  and  cheapness  of  the  manufacture,  the  wide 
penetration  of  modern  commerce  into  every  land,  and  the 
active  zeal  of  missionary  enterprise  —  each  step  being,  as 
it  were,  a  preparation  for  the  one  that  followed  —  who  can 


256         Green   Tilings  upon  the  Earth. 

resist  the  conviction  that  these  events  are  to  be  regarded 
not  as  unconnected  and  accidental,  but  as  the  planned 
working  of  Providence  ? 

Various  plants  supply  a  soft  white  down  which,  judging 
by  ordinary  examination,  appears  as  well  adapted  for  manu- 
facturing cloth  as  cotton  itself.  But  there  is  a  structural 
peculiarity  inherent  in  the  fibre  of  the  latter  which  distin- 
guishes it  not  only  from  flax-fibre  but  from  most  other 
downs ;  and,  although  so  minute  as  to  be  microscopic,  it 
nevertheless  distinctly  marks  the  purpose  of  the  great 
Designer.  It  may  here  be  observed  that  cotton  is  a  vege- 
table hair  enveloping  the  seed  capsules,  while  flax-thread 
is  a  kind  of  fine  woody  fibre  of  which  the  stem  of  the 
plant  is  chiefly  composed.  Both  are  originally  round  in 
form  ;  but  the  flax-fibre  being  strong  continues  to  retain 
its  shape,  while  the  cotton-fibre  being  weak  collapses  in 
drying  up.  In  the  field  of  the  microscope  it  will  be  seen 
that  every  cotton-fibre  is  flattened  into  a  minute  ribbon 
twisted  round  at  intervals  upon  itself,  while  its  surface  and 
edges  are  roughened  and  unequal.  From  this  roughness 
comes  the  invaluable  property  that  when  the  fibres  are 
twisted  in  the  manufacture  they  cling  and  lock  into  each 
other,  by  which  not  only  is  the  strength  of  the  thread  in- 
creased, but  the  inconvenient  tendency  to  untwist  observed 
in  many  other  fibres  is  also  obviated.  The  degree  of  fine- 
ness to  which,  from  this  peculiarity,  cotton-fibres  may  be 
spun  is  almost  incredible.  A  single  pound  weight  of  cot- 
ton has  been  twisted  by  machinery  into  a  thread  4770 
miles  in  length  !  Such  fairy-like  thread,  it  need  scarcely 
be  observed,  cannot  be  applied  to  any  useful  purpose,  for 
cloth  made  from  twist  many  degrees  coarser  than  this,  by 
means  of  a  machine  as  delicate  in  its  action  as  a  watch, 
was  found  to  be  as  fragile  as  a  spider's  web,  and  would 
not  bear  handling. 

Are  we  not  too  apt  to  take  our  good  gifts  as  mere  things 
of  course,  and  to  lose  sight  of  the  magnitude  of  a  blessing 


Green   Things  upon  the  Earth.       257 

in  its  commonness  ?  The  necessity  for  clothing  is,  for  the 
greater  part  of  mankind,  only  second  to  the  necessity  for 
food  ;  and  flax  and  cotton  stand  in  the  same  relation  to 
our  clothing  as  wheat  and  other  cereals  do  to  our  daily 
bread.  If  all  the  health  and  happiness  which  these  two 
"green  things  of  the  earth  "  have  diffused  among  mankind 
could  be  added  up  into  one  sum,  what  expression  would 
be  comprehensive  enough  adequately  to  represent  it  ? 

Praise  the  Lord,  0  ray  soul,  and  forget  not  all  His  benefits.  —  Ps.  ciii. 

The  lower  animals  have  their  food  given  to  them  al- 
ready prepared  by  the  hand  of  Nature ;  but  man  requires 
not  only  to  cook  his  food,  but  often  to  alter  the  original 
condition  of  the  plant  itself  whence  it  is  derived,  and  im- 
prove it  by  cultivation.  Those  cereals,  for  example,  on 
which  we  now  mainly  depend  for  "  the  staff  of  life  "  were 
originally  wild  grass.  They  have  been  brought  to  their 
present  state  of  perfection  by  long  years  of  patient  cultiva- 
tion, but  they  would  infallibly  relapse  into  their  original 
wildness  if  they  were  neglected  even  for  a  few  seasons. 
The  same  observation  applies  to  the  potato,  turnip,  cab- 
bage, and  many  other  useful  vegetables.  How  great  the 
skill  and  perseverance  expended  in  bringing  them  to  their 
present  state,  and  what  gratitude  is  due  to  the  King  of 
Nature  for  having  prompted  us  with  the  knowledge  neces- 
sary to  accomplish  so  great  and  beneficial  a  result ! 

In  our  comparatively  cold  climate  Nature  is,  as  usual, 
kind  and  bountiful,  but  she  exacts  a  greater  labor-payment 
than  in  warmer  countries  The  tax  thus  levied  must  not, 
however,  be  regarded  as  altogether  without  profit.  If  the 
climate  bring  the  difficulty,  it  also  brings  energetic  heads, 
well-braced  muscles,  and  firmly  strung  nerves  to  cope  with 
it.  Hence,  although  our  farmers  are  doomed  to  a  con- 
stant struggle  with  the  weather,  the  soil,  and  other  adverse 
influences,  they  generally  triumph  in  the  end  by  skill  and 
17 


258        Green   Tilings  upon  the  Earth, 

industry,   and  are  able  to  produce  both  enough    and  to 
spare. 

In  tropical  countries,  on  the  contrary,  the  Creator,  as 
if  in  compassion  to  that  muscular  relaxation  and  want  of 
energy  which  heat  engenders,  has  caused  the  earth  to  pro- 
duce its  fruits  with  comparatively  little  expense  of  labor, 
and  has  often  multiplied  in  a  wonderful  manner  the  uses 
to  which  a  single  plant  can  be  applied.     The  catalogue  of 
products  yielded  by  the  date-palm  includes,  according  to 
Humboldt,  "  wine,  oil,  vinegar,  farinaceous  food,  and  sugar, 
timber  and  ropes,  mats  and  paper."     An  allied  tree  — the 
cocoa-nut  palm  —  which  grows  without   cultivation,  is  in 
itself  a  storehouse  of  every  thing  needful  to  sustain  life  in 
those  climates.     Thus  it  "  forms  a  grateful  shade  from  the 
vertical  sun  ;  its  timber  serves  to  build  huts,  and  its  leaves 
to  thatch  them.     The  cut  sheath  of  the  flowers  distils  a 
sweet  liquid,  which  by  fermentation  speedily  becomes  the 
palm-wine  so  eagerly  drunk  by  the  natives  of  hot  climates. 
From  this  liquor  sugar  may  be  obtained  by  boiling,  or,  if 
it  be  long  exposed  to  the  air,  an  excellent  vinegar  is  made. 
The  nut  is  most  valuable  as  food,  and  indeed  forms  the 
staff  of  life  to  the   coral  islanders  cf  the  Pacific  ;  it  like- 
wise supplies  an  oil,  equal  to*  that  of  almonds,  which  is 
extensively  used  in  India.     The  strong  fibres  enveloping 
the  nut  are  turned  to  numerous  domestic  purposes,  while 
the  shell  itself  may  be  made  into  cups  or  goblets." 

The  various  climates  of  the  globe  have  impressed  a 
special  physiognomy  on  the  flora  of  its  different  regions. 
Within  the  tropics  the  great  stimulants  of  vegetable  growth 

light,  heat,    and  moisture  —  exist    at   their   maximum, 

and  consequently  the  glories  of  the  plantal  world  are 
there  developed  in  the  highest  perfection.  Tropical  for- 
ests surpass  those  of  the  rest  of  the  globe  in  their  beauty, 
color,  size,  density,  and  fragrance ;  but  their  characteristic 
physiognomy  is  more  especially  stamped  upon  them  by 
the  bananas,  cocoas,  and  other  kinds  of  palm,  and  by  the 


Green   Things  upon   the  Earth,       259 

dazzling  orchids  which  gem  or  garland  the  trees.  No  de- 
scription can  adequately  portray  the  profusion  of  tropical 
vegetation.  In  the  vicinity  of  the  larger  towns,  where  cul- 
tivation prevails,  the  rank  exuberance  of  plantal  life  is  of 
course  kept  within  bounds ;  but  in  the  jungles  and  in  the 
recesses  of  the  primeval  forest  its  density  is  extreme,  and 
the  surface  of  the  earth  is  packed  with  the  abundance  of 
its  own  richness.  Through  obstacles  like  these  the  ser- 
pent may  creep,  or  the  wild  beast,  sheathed  in  the  armor 
of  its  thick  fur,  may  force  a  passage  ;  but  man  can  only 
cut  out  his  way  with  the  hatchet  in  his  hand.  On  either 
side  of  the  passage  thus  driven  through,  vegetation  tan- 
gled, interwoven,  compressed  by  plant  growing  upon 
plant,  builds  itself  up  as  solid  almost  as  a  wall.  The  den- 
sity of  the  leafage  overhead  is  in  keeping  with  the  require- 
ments of  such  climates.  Strong,  protecting  coverings  are 
necessary  to  intercept  and  absorb  the  fierce  rays  of  the 
sun,  and  shield  the  surface  of  the  earth  from  their  scorch- 
ing touch  ;  they  are  needed,  also,  to  break  the  fall  of  the 
deluge  which  pours  down  like  a  water-spout  from  southern 
skies.  The  blackness  of  the  shade  may  be  measured 
when  it  is  contrasted  with  the  vivid  points  and  lines  of  al- 
most dazzling  light  which  here  and  there  pierce  through 
chinks  in  the  leafy  canopy.  The  course  of  a  river  search- 
ing for  a  passage  through  the  thick  forests  of  South  Amer- 
ica seems  hewn  out  among  the  trees  ;  it  has  no  shelving 
banks  of  green,  but  is  cut  clean  out  of  the  forest  mass. 
r'  In  descending  the  streams  between  the  Orinoco  and  the 
Amazon,"  says  Humboldt,  "  we  often  tried  to  land,  but 
without  being  able  to  step  out  of  the  boat.  Toward  sun- 
set we  sailed  along  the  bank  for  an  hour  to  discover,  not 
an  opening,  since  none  exists,  but  a  spot  less  wooded, 
where  our  Indians,  by  means  of  the  hatchet  and  manual 
labor,  would  gain  space  enough  for  a  resting-place  for 
twelve  or  thirteen  persons."  There  must  be  something 
extremely  captivating  both  to  the  eye  and  the  imagination 


260        Green   Things  upon  the  Earth, 

in  tropical  scenery.  All  travelers  speak  of  it  —  both  of 
its  wild  forests  and  its  cultivated  spots  —  with  enthusiasm, 
and  with  that  affection  in  which  memory  embalms  only  a 
few  of  the  places  one  visits  in  a  lifetime.  Of  the  smiling 
environs  of  some  Brazilian  cities  Darwin  thus  writes  :  — 
"  While  quietly  walking  along  the  shady  pathways,  and 
admiring  each  successive  view,  I  wished  to  find  language 
to  express  my  ideas.  Epithet  after  epithet  was  found  too 
weak  to  convey  to  those  who  have  not  visited  the  inter- 
tropical regions  the  sensation  of  delight  which  the  mind 
experiences.  I  have  said  that  the  plants  in  a  hot-house 
fail  to  communicate  a  just  idea  of  the  vegetation,  yet  I 
must  recur  to  it.  The  land  is  one  great  wild,  untidy,  lux- 
uriant hot-house,  made  by  Nature  herself,  but  •  taken  pos- 
session of  by  man,  who  has  studded  it  with  gay  houses 
and  formal  gardens.  How  great  would  be  the  desire  in 
any  admirer  of  Nature  to  behold,  if  such  were  possible, 
the  scenery  of  another  planet !  Yet  to  any  person  in 
Europe  it  may  be  truly  said  that,  at  the  distance  of  only  a 
few  degrees  from  his  native  soil,  the  glories  of  another 
world  are  opened  to  him.  In  my  last  walk  I  stopped 
again  and  again  to  gaze  on  those  beauties,  and  endeav- 
ored to  fix  in  my  mind  for  ever  an  impression  which  at 
the  time  I  knew  sooner  or  later  must  fail.  The  form  of 
the  orange-tree,  the  cocoa-nut,  the  palm,  the  mango,  the 
fern-tree,  the  banana,  will  remain  clear  and  separate  ;  but 
the  thousand  beauties  which  unite  them  into  one  perfect 
scene  must  fade  away ;  yet  they  will  leave,  like  a  tale 
told  in  childhood,  a  picture  full  of  indistinct,  but  most 
beautiful  figures." 

Here  is  another  sketch  of  southern  vegetation,  drawn  by 
Piazzi  Smith  during  his  excursion  to  Teneriffe  :  —  "  When 
walking  at  midday  in  one  of  the  basalt-paved  streets,  each 
glittering  stone  sending  back  the  full  rays  of  a  vertical 
sun,  and  the  gleaming  houses  on  either  side  affording  a 
steady,  white,  hot  glare  of  unmitigated   sunshine,  what 


Green   Things  upon  the  Earth.       261 

words  in  a  northern  language  can  express  the  delightful 
emotions,  when  at  the  open  gateway  of  one  of  the  semi- 
Moorish  abodes  we  look  in  upon  a  grove  of  bananas  ! 
Throwing  a  tender  green  shade  over  the  interior  court, 
their  grand  and  delicately  structured  leaves  rise  up  aloft, 
catch  the  fierce  rays  of  the  sun  before  they  can  do  mis- 
chief, receive  them  into  their  substance,  make  them  give 
out  the  most  varied  yellow  greens  ;  pass  them  on  from  leaf 
to  leaf  subdued  and  softened  —  pass  them  on  to  the 
oleander's  fountain  of  rose-pink  flowers,  to  the  dark-green 
of  the  orange-like  myrtle  and  the  bay;  and  leave  just  light 
enough  at  last  in  the  green  cavern  below  to  show  the 
bubbling  of  some  tiny  fountain  —  the  welling  heart  of  the 
fairy  oasis." 

In  striking  contrast  to  such  pictures  of  tropical  splendor, 
let  us,  for  an  instant,  turn  to  those  desolate  tracts  in  the 
far  north,  where  the  physical  conditions  we  have  been  con- 
sidering are  reversed,  and  where  light,  heat,  and  moisture 
are  at  a  minimum.  Still,  even  into  this  inhospitable 
climate  a  meagre  vegetable  life  extends.  There  is,  in  fact, 
no  latitude  into  which  man  has  penetrated  where  plants 
do  not  exist ;  and  it  may  be  confidently  predicted  that,  if 
land  should  be  found  under  the  poles,  there  also  a  flora 
will  be  seen  to  flourish.  Covered  up  in  its  blanket  of 
snow  there  is  a  lichen  on  which  in  the  winter  time  the 
Esquimaux  can  contrive  to  exist  when  other  provisions 
fail ;  and  it  was  by  means  of  this  plant  that  a  boat-party 
detached  from  Kane's  expedition  beyond  Smith's  Sound 
were  saved  from  starvation.  Some  nutritious  mucilage  is 
also  extracted  from  the  Iceland  moss,  which  from  its  mild, 
demulcent  properties  is  favorably  known  in  many  a  sick- 
room. But  as  the  short,  polar  summer  advances,  and  the 
ground  is  bathed  day  and  night  in  warm  sunlight,  vegeta- 
tion springs  up  upon  the  surface  with  a  bound.  Scarcely 
has  the  last  snow-flake  melted  from  the  ground  before  the 
earth  is  carpeted  with  the  softest,  shortest,  greenest  grass. 


262         Green   Things  tip  on  the  Earth. 

In  propitious  spots  the  saxifrage,  primrose,  anemone,  ra- 
nunculus, and  wild  thyme  crop  up  and  brighten  the  dull 
surface  with  their  pretty  flowers.  With  these  are  associated 
the  scurvy-grass  and  the  sorrel,  —  plants  which  may  well 
be  deemed  providential  in  a  climate  of  which  scurvy  is  the 
direst  scourge. 

Between  these  two  extremes  there  is  a  long  series  of 
gradations  in  vegetable  life,  which  we  have  here  barely 
space  to  notice.  In  general  it  may  be  said  that  there  is 
a  progressive  increase  in  plantal  abundance  and  richness 
as  we  pass  from  high  latitudes  toward  the  tropics.  In 
Europe,  tree  life  commences  humbly  round  the  bleak 
shores  of  the  North  Cape.  The  birch  and  the  willow  first 
appear,  not  with  the  graceful  forms  and  foliage  by  which 
they  are  known  to  us  in  England,  but  as  dwarfed  and 
scrubby  shrubs,  —  interesting  only  as  the  earliest  efforts 
of  Nature  to  establish  forest  life.  Then  come  the  hardy 
Scotch  fir  and  the  spruce ;  and  these  are  soon  joined  by 
the  sturdy  sycamore.  Among  our  favorite  ornamental 
trees  the  mountain-ash,  or  rowan,  is  the  first  to  show  itself, 
robed  in  white  blossoms  in  spring  and  covered  with  ruddy 
berries  in  autumn.  The  sandy  soil  of  Denmark  is  now 
the  great  home  of  the  beech.  By  the  time  our  own  belt 
of  climate  is  reached,  forest  life  has  passed  from  scarcity 
to  profusion,  and  our  woods  are  distinguished  by  their 
variety  no  less  than  by  their  beauty.  The  oak,  which  be- 
gan by  struggling  for  a  bare  existence  about  Trontheim, 
in  Norway,  has  by  degrees  grown  stronger  and  nobler, 
until  by  the  consent  of  all  it  has  attained  the  rank  of 
monarch  of  the  wood. 

In  descending  from  the  north,  barley  and  rye  are  the 
first  among  cereals  to  bless  the  earth.  They  begin  to  be 
worth  cultivation  in  Norway  as  far  up  as  latitude  700, 
where,  under  the  stimulating  influence  of  the  constant 
summer  sun,  they  are  sown,  reaped,  and  gathered  within 
the  short  three  months'  interval  that  intervenes  between 


Green   Things  upon  the  Earth.       263 

the  last  snows  of  spring  and  the  first  of  autumn.  In  our 
island  the  profitable  cultivation  of  wheat  barely  reaches 
John  o'Groat's,  but  it  extends  a  little  higher  on  the  op- 
posite coast  of  Norway.  It  attains  its  highest  perfection 
in  the  south  of  Europe.  A  line  passing  through  the  north- 
ern provinces  of  France  and  Germany  marks  the  limit 
beyond  which  the  vine  does  not  flourish  in  the  open  air. 
As  we  approach  the  extreme  south  of  Europe  we  reach  a 
plantal  frontier,  including  only  a  few  of  the  sunniest  re- 
gions of  Spain,  Italy,  and  Greece,  where  the  productions 
of  temperate  climes  begin  to  be  blended  with  those  that 
characterize  the  tropics  —  where  the  olive,  orange,  and 
oleander  are  interspersed  with  the  hardiest  of  the  palm 
tribe.  This  sudden  glimpse  of  the  richness  of  southern 
vegetation  is  very  delightful  to  a  wanderer  from  Northern 
Europe  who  sees  it  for  the  first  time,  and  it  forms  one  of 
the  most  striking  transitions  in  the  aspect  of  plantal  life 
which  is  to  be  found  anywhere.  Passing  beyond  the 
southern  shores  of  the  Mediterranean  the  temperature 
rapidly  increases,  and  vegetation  soon  assumes  a  true 
tropical  character. 

It  has  been  computed  that  the  earth  is  enriched  with 
at  least  100,000  different  kinds  of  plants.  The  seed  is 
brought  forth  with  a  profusion  which  not  only  provides 
amply  for  the  increase  of  the  species,  but  which  generally 
leaves  a  large  supply  over  and  above  to  serve  as  food  for 
birds  and  other  animals.  It  is  remarkable  what  pains 
Nature  takes  to  distribute  the  seed.  The  chief  sower  is 
the  wind,  which  blows  the  seed  about  until  a  suitable  spot 
has  been  found.  Many  seeds  are  furnished  with  feathery 
appendages,  which  may  be  compared  to  wings  or  sails,  in 
order  that  they  may  more  easily  catch  the  breeze  and  be 
wafted  through  the  air.  Most  frequently  the  seed-vessel 
opens  after  it  has  reached  maturity,  and  casts  its  contents 
over  the  ground  ;  at  other  times  it  waits  until  it  is  touched 
by  some  passing  object.     Some,  like  the  mahogany,  open 


264         Green   Things  tipon  the  Earth, 

when  they  become  dry ;  others  wait  until  moisture  and 
other  circumstances  are  propitious  for  germination,  when 
the  seed-vessels  open  and  the  contents  are  scattered  around. 
De  Candolle  tells  us  that  the  seed  of  the  rose  of  Jericho 
does  not  ripen  until  the  season  is  so  far  advanced  that 
every  drop  of  water  has  been  sucked  out  of  the  soil.  It 
would  answer  no  good  purpose  were  the  seed  to  be  allowed 
to  fall  upon  such  arid  ground.  The  plant,  however,  is 
rescued  from  its  dilemma  by  a  curious  device  of  Nature. 
Under  the  influence  of  the  scorching  sun  the  branches  dry 
up  and  become  rolled  into  an  irregular,  elastic  ball.  By 
and  by  the  wind  of  the  desert,  as  it  sweeps  along  the  dusty 
plain,  catches  the  plant  and  tears  it  up  by  the  root.  The 
ball  rolls  easily  over  the  surface,  and  is  driven  to  and  fro 
until  it  sticks  fast  in  some  little  oasis  or  spot  of  moisture. 
During  this  rough  journey  the  seed-vessels  hold  their  pre- 
cious contents  firmly  and  safely  •  but  no  sooner  do  they 
perceive  the  "  signal  "  of  moisture  than  they  open  freely, 
and  the  seed  falling  on  "  good  ground  "  springs  up  rapidly. 
Though  much  seed  is  lost — or  at  least  does  not  germi- 
nate —  there  is  a  providence  which  takes  care  that  every 
spot  of  earth  shall  be  supplied  with  the  vegetable  growths 
that  suit  it.  What  wonderful  efforts  are  sometimes  made 
to  stock  new  land  with  plants  !  An  eminent  naturalist, 
after  describing  the  beauty  of  the  cocoa-nut  groves  that 
flourish  on  the  Coral  Islands  of  the  Pacific,  has  suggested 
the  chapter  of  designed  accidents  to  which  they  owe  their 
origin.  When  the  island  emerges  from  the  deep  it  is  a 
barren  reef  of  limestone  rock,  glittering  white  and  bright 
under  a  tropical  sun.  In  process  of  time  patches  of  chalky 
mud  and  sand,  formed  upon  its  surface  by  the  action  of 
rain  and  waves,  are  washed  into  clefts  and  sheltered  places 
along  the  shore.  The  island  now  begins  to  be  fit  for  vege- 
tation ;  and,  strange  though  it  may  seem,  the  cocoa  is 
usually  one  of  the  first  plants  to  appear.  How  does  the 
seed  get  there  ?     The  bulky  nut  is  too  large  to  be  carried 


Green    Tilings  upon  the  Earth.       265 

by  birds,  and  ships  avoid  the  reef  as  a  source  of  danger. 
A  stray  cocoa-nut  that  grew  in  far-distant  groves,  after 
being  the  sport  of  storms  and  currents,  has  hit  the  new 
spot  in  the  lone  ocean.  Cast  ashore  by  the  surf,  it  has 
become  fixed  in  one  of  the  muddy  clefts,  where  it  finds 
enough  of  nourishment  for  its  growth.  By  and  by  a  young 
plantation  of  descendants  is  established  around.  The  fall 
of  the  leaves  and  the  decay  of  each  generation  add  to  the 
stock  of  moid  and  supply  the  soil  for  more  varied  vegeta- 
tion, until  at  length  the  bare,  white  reef  is  changed  into  a 
scene  which  sailors  describe  as  an  earthly  paradise. 

With  what  orderly  providence  all  the  steps  of  this  long 
operation  succeed  each  other.  There  is,  first,  the  emer- 
gence of  the  bare  rock,  and  the  preparation  of  a  little  store 
of  mud.  Then  some  palm-tree,  growing  perhaps  hun- 
dreds of  miles  away,  drops  a  nut,  which,  rolling  into  the 
neighboring  stream  is  carried  downward  into  the  sea.  It 
is  thus  launched  upon  a  seemingly  random  and  useless 
voyage  —  a  waif- of  the  ocean,  unseen  by  man,  but  guided 
by  the  hand  of  Providence.  '  Encased  in  its  armor  of 
shell,  against  which  wind  and  wave  beat  in  vain,  it  seems 
as  if  constructed  on  purpose  to  carry  a  life-freight  across 
stormy  seas.  Soon  the  current  takes  it  in  possession  — 
slowly  it  drifts  along — months  roll  on,  and  the  cocoa-nut 
is  still  sailing  on  its  mission.  Rocks  are  avoided  against 
which  it  might  have  clashed,  and  shores  on  which  it  might 
have  been  stranded,  until  it  arrives  at  last  at  the  lonely 
spot  in  the  wide  ocean,  and  then  the  surf  casts  it  ashore 
into  its  destined  cleft  where  the  little  patch  of  mud  is 
ready  to  receive  it. 

As  a  protection  against  the  accidents  to  which  seeds  are 
exposed,  Nature  has  endowed  them  with  wonderful  tenac- 
ity of  life.  Passing  over  the  assertions  that  have  been 
made  about  the  vitality  of  Egyptian  wheat  after  a  3000 
years'  slumber  in  Theban  tombs,  there  are  other  cases  suf- 
ficiently wonderful,  about  the  authenticity  of  which  there 


266         Green   Things  upon  the  Earth. 

can  be  no  question.  In  some  parts  of  the  country 
"  dykes  "  or  mound-fences  have  existed  from  time  imme- 
morial ;  but  no  sooner  are  these  leveled  than  the  seeds  of 
wild  flowers,  which  must  have  lain  buried  in  them  for  ages, 
sprout  forth  vigorously,  just  as  if  the  ground  had  been 
recently  sown  with  seed.  Plants,  too,  which  formerly 
flourished  in  the  district,  but  which  had  long  disappeared 
from  it,  have  sometimes  been  recovered  in  this  manner. 
In  a  well-authenticated  case,  a  house  that  was  known  to 
have  existed  for  200  years  was  pulled  down,  and  no  sooner 
was  the  surface  soil  exposed  to  the  influence  of  light  and 
moisture,  than  it  became  covered  with  a  crop  of  wild  mus- 
tard or  charlock.  Instances  might  easily  be  multiplied 
almost  indefinitely,  but  we  shall  be  satisfied  with  noticing 
one  of  a  very  extraordinary  kind.  In  the  time  of  the 
Emperor  Hadrian  a  man  died  soon  after  he  had  eaten 
plentifully  of  raspberries.  He  was  buried  at  Dorchester. 
About  thirty  years  ago  the  remains  of  this  man,  together 
with  coins  of  the  Roman  Emperor,  were  discovered  in  a 
coffin  at  the  bottom  of  a  barrow,  thirty  feet  under  the  sur- 
face. The  man  had  thus  lain  undisturbed  for  some  1700 
years.  But  the  most  curious  circumstance  connected  with 
the  case  was  that  the  raspberry  seeds  were  recovered  from 
the  stomach,  and  sown  in  the  garden  of  the  Horticultural 
Society,  where  they  germinated  and  grew  into  healthy 
bushes. 

There  is  a  period  of  helplessness  in  the  life  of  a  plant 
when  it  is  dependent  on  the  provision  that  has  been  made 
for  it  by  its  parent,  and  which  corresponds  very  closely  to 
a  similar  condition  in  the  life  of  animals.  A  seed  may  be 
compared  to  an  egg.  The  greater  part  of  the  bulk  of  an 
egg  consists  of  nutritive  matter,  which  the  embryo  chick  ab- 
sorbs until  it  is  sufficiently  developed  to  break  its  prison 
shell  and  shift  for  itself.  In  like  manner  the  greater 
part  of  the  seed  consists  of  nutritive  matter,  which  is  ab- 
sorbed by  the  embryo  plant  until  it  is  sufficiently  devel- 


Green    Things  upon  the  Earth.       267 

oped  to  provide  independently  for  its  own  growth  by  send- 
ing its  root  down  into  the  soil  and  its  stem  up  into  the  air. 
How  strikingly  the  providence  of  the  Creator  is  disp'ayed 
in  the  different  phases  through  which  a  seed  passes  !  The 
old  plant,  before  parting  with  its  tender  offspring,  softly 
envelops  it  in  a  thick,  warm  blanket  of  starch,  and  covers 
this  over  with  the  tough,  dense  wrappers  of  the  seed,  in 
order  that  the  life-spark  within  may  sleep  in  safety  through 
the  winter,  until  Spring  awakens  it  with  her  signal  calls  of 
light  and  heat.  This  starchy  substance  is  insoluble,  and, 
therefore,  easily  preserves  itself,  in  most  cases,  against  the 
melting  influences  of  damp  or  rain.  But  this  very  quality, 
which  protects  it  so  well  during  the  winter,  is  a  fatal  bar 
against  its  being  used  as  nourishment  by  the  embryo  plant, 
whose  delicate  powers  of  assimilation  enable  it  to  feed 
only  on  substances  that  are  soluble.  To  meet  this  ne- 
cessity a  process  of  vital  chemistry  is  instituted  on  the  ap- 
proach of  spring,  by  which  the  insoluble  starch  is  con- 
verted by  a  kind  of  fermentation  into  a  soluble  saccharine 
substance  called  "  diastase."  On  this  the  germ  can  act 
readily,  and  thus  obtains  abundance  of  food.  Every  body 
has  observed  how  potatoes  change  as  spring  comes  on. 
Their  mealiness,  that  is,  a  portion  of  their  starch,  is  gone, 
and  they  have  become  waxy  and  sweet.  Their  value  for 
the  table  is  impaired,  but  their  fitness  to  serve  as  seed  has 
been  secured.  There  is  no  "  spoiling,"  as  is  often  thought. 
The  covering  which  kept  out  the  rain  now  splits  to  allow 
the  passage  of  stem  and  root ;  and  the  blanket  which  kept 
out  the  winter  cold,  being  no  longer  needed,  is  put  off  at 
the  command  of  Nature,  or,  rather,  it  begins  a  new  course 
of  usefulness  by  converting  itself  into  a  soluble  substance 
011  which  the  young  plant  can  feed. 

How  happens  it  —  is  it  from  contrast  merely,  or  from 
revived  association,  —  that  "  green  things  "  never  seem 
more  attractive  than  when  they  greet  us  unexpectedly  in 
the  midst  of  crowded  cities  ?    Buried  though  the  Londoner 


268         Green   Things  upon  the  Earth. 

be  in  his  labyrinth  of  bricks,  he  is  yet  happily  within  reach 
of  those  beautiful  parks  where  Nature  blends  itself  so 
charmingly  with  Art,  and  where  at  leisure  hours  he  can 
relax  the  tension  of  his  thoughts  and  watch  the  annual 
return  of  spring  and  summer.  But  did  the  reader  ever 
stumble  upon  a  patch  of  verdure  in  the  midst  of  the 
noisy,  bustling  city,  closely  hidden  between  streets  and 
gables,  with,  perhaps,  the  not  unfrequent  plane-tree  rising 
in  the  centre  and  diffusing  shade  and  freshness  all  around  ? 
The  hum  of  London  traffic  breaks  softly  there  upon  the 
ear,  like  the  hollow  sound  of  a  distant  sea,  and  soothes 
rather  than  disturbs.  All  is  wrapped  in  almost  cloister 
silence.  In  summer,  besides  the  shade,  there  is  the  grate- 
ful coolness  produced  by  the  evaporation  going  on  from 
the  beautiful  broad  leaves.  Instead  of  flinging  back  the 
hot  glare  of  the  sun,  like  the  stony  desert  in  which  it  is  set, 
the  plane  absorbs  a  portion  of  the  light  for  its  own  use, 
and  then  sends  back  to  the  eye  the  rest,  softened  into  re- 
freshing green.  It  is  curious  to  think  how  many  of  those 
verdant  oases  still  survive  in  the  old  heart  of  modern 
Babylon,  even  where  the  bricks  are  thickest  on  the 
ground  ;  and  never  do  they  disappear  at  the  summons  of 
the  architect  or  the  engineer  without  leaving  behind  them 
remembrances  of  regret. 

We  have  often  thought  that  one  of  the  most  pleasing 
sights  to  be  seen  in  St.  Giles's  or  Spitalfields  are  the  flower- 
pots, including  broken  jugs  and  battered,  lidless  coffee- 
pots, in  which  many  a  decent  family  tries,  not  unsuccess- 
fully, to  coax  a  little  verdure  to  abide  with  them  throughout 
the  year.  So  also,  when  we  escape  by  rail  from  London, 
and  skim  over  the  house-tops  of  some  densely  peopled 
suburb,  what  eye  does  not  dip  with  kindly  glance  into  the 
little  gardens  marvelously  wedged  in  between  the  backs 
of  humble  streets.  There  the  busy  workman  contrives  to 
find  time  and  heart  to  wage  constant  war  with  city  dust 
and  falling  "blacks."     There,  in  the  intervals  of  toil,  he 


Green   Things  upon  the  Earth.       269 

changes  the  scene,  and  finds  himself  face  to  face  with 
Nature.  There  he  can  note  how  plants  grow,  how  seeds 
germinate,  how  the  root  grasps  the  soil,  how  the  foliage 
bursts  forth,  how  summer  ripens  the  fruit  and  autumn 
strikes  down  the  leaves.  Thus,  though  fate  claims  him 
for  the  town,  he  is  not  absolutely  cut  off  from  the  "  green 
things  upon  the  earth  ; "  and  in  his  cherished  spot  of  gar- 
den he  rinds  ideas  that  link  his  thoughts  with  country 
scenes.  Nor  is  our  rapid  survey  less  pleasing  when  we 
reflect  that  such  pursuits  for  leisure  hours  have  a  moral 
value  to  the  workman  beyond  the  mere  interest  that  lies 
upon  the  surface,  for  they  are  antagonistic  to  dissipation, 
and  lead  straight  from  the  dram-shop. 

Let  all  the  trees  of  the  wood  rejoice  before  the  Lord.  —  Fs.  xcvi. 

Among  "  green  things  "  trees  stand  out  preeminently  as 
the  grandest  of  God's  works.  In  beauty  they  are  sur- 
passed by  no  other  kind  of  plant,  while  in  height,  size,  and 
strength  they  have  no  rival  among  living  things.  When 
polished,  many  kinds  of  wood  exhibit  a  variety  of  color 
and  figure  which  may  compete  with  the  finest  marble.  In 
its  physical  qualities  wood  is  admirably  adapted  to  our 
use.  Thus  many  kinds  are  soft,  like  pine  or  poplar  ; 
others  hard,  like  oak  or  holly  ;  some  light,  as  cedar  or 
lime  ;  others  so  heavy  that  they  sink  in  water,  like  ebony 
or  lignum  vitae.  The  yew  has  a  durability  expressed  in 
the  proverb  that  "  a  post  of  yew  will  outlast  a  post  of 
iron."  Some  are  remarkable  for  their  toughness,  like  the 
ash.  In  short,  there  is  hardly  any  quality  rendered  neces- 
sary by  the  thousand  purposes  both  of  use  and  ornament 
to  which  wood  is  applied  which  is  not  to  be  found  in  one 
kind  or  another.  How  much  this  variety  contributes  to 
the  comfort  and  resources  of  our  daily  life  need  not  here 
be  pointed  out,  but  we  cannot  fail  to  see  in  it  an  evidence 
of  the  kindness  with  which  our  Father  has  foreseen  and 
provided  for  all  our  wants. 


270         Green    Tilings  upon  the  Earth. 

Some  of  the  giants  in  the  forests  of  Northwestern 
America  attain  a  height  of  upward  of  two  hundred  and 
thirty  feet,  and  they  are  said  to  have  a  girth  of  one  hun- 
dred and  twelve  feet,  which  represents  a  diameter  rathei 
exceeding  thirty-seven  feet.  In  tropical  forests  the  great 
cable  palm  has  a  stem  five  hundred  feet  in  length.  Fa- 
vored beyond  most  other  living  things,  there  is  for  trees  no 
age  that  excludes  beauty  —  not  even  the  period  of  decay. 
What  a  goodly  sight  it  is  to  see  an  old  oak  battling  with 
Time  !  The  sturdy  monarch  yields  only  inch  by  inch  to  the 
power  that  conquers  all  things,  and  he  protracts  his  fall 
with  dignity  and  picturesqueness.  The  bole  is  rugged 
with  the  scars  that  were  left  ages  ago,  when  the  huge  arms 
of  his  strong  days  were  torn  from  his  side  by  the  storm ; 
and  it  is  breached  here  and  there  with  gaps  and  fissures 
which  it  has  taken  centuries  to  chisel  out,  but  through 
which  all-conquering  Time,  baffled  elsewhere,  is  fain  to 
enter  in  and  gnaw  out  a  way  to  the  heart.  Of  the  trunk 
that  once  formed  an  emblem  of  strength  but  a  shapeless 
fragment  remains ;  yet  in  the  midst  of  ruin  the  brave  old 
oak  still  sends  forth  to  every  spring  its  accustomed  tribute, 
whose  green  freshness  stands  out  in  curious  contrast  to  the 
withered  stem  that  bears  it  up.  Following  the  universal 
law  the  old  tree  instinctively  fights  for  life,  and  shrinks 
from  ceasing  to  exist. 

Trees  are  full  of  interest  as  the  broadest  living  links  that 
bind  us  to  the  past.  There  is  nothing  else  with  life  that 
bridges  across  the  Middle  Ages  and  carries  us  back  into  re- 
mote antiquity.  The  oldest  forest  patriarchs  were  planted 
long  before  history  occupied  herself  with  chronicling  such 
events,  still  there  are  other  means  by  which  the  age  of  trees 
may  be  approximatively  determined.  There  are,  perhaps, 
in  England  as  many  oaks  named  after  William  the  Con- 
queror as  there  are  old  feudal  towers  attributed  to  Julius 
Caesar,  and  there  are  at  least  some  trees  to  which  even  a 
higher  antiquity  may  be  indubitably  assigned.     The  oldest 


Great    Things  upon  the  Earth.       271 

and  largest  tree  of  which  Windsor  can  boast  is  the  "  King 
Oak,"  which  Loudon  tells  us  is  said  to  have  been  a  favor- 
ite with  the  Conqueror  when  he  inclosed  the  forest.  It  is 
twenty-six  feet  in  circumference,  and  is  supposed  to  be  a 
thousand  years  old.  More  famous  still  is  the  Winfarthing 
oak,  near  Diss,  in  Norfolk,  which  tradition  asserts  was 
known  as  "  the  old  oak  "  even  in  the  Conqueror's  time. 
Immediately  above  the  root  its  circumference  is  seventy 
feet,  and  forty  feet  at  the  middle  of  the  bole.  According 
to  the  best  authorities  this  oak  is  believed  to  be  not  less 
than  1500  years  old  !  Not  many  buildings  now  existing, 
except  in  ruins,  are  so  ancient  as  this  tree.  In  the  Con- 
queror's time  it  might  well  be  called  "  old,"  for  it  had 
then  seen  some  seven  hundred  summers.  It  was  an  old 
tree  when  Alfred  the  Great  was  fighting  the  Danes  and 
founding  the  English  monarchy  ;  in  fact,  it  may  be  said 
to  have  lived  through  the  whole  "History  of  England." 
Another  tree,  the  sober-mantled  yew,  —  associated  in  our 
thoughts  with  the  peaceful  parish  church-yard,  —  attains  a 
remarkable  size  and  longevity.  Numbers  are  to  be  found 
with  a  girth  of  25  or  27  feet ;  and  there  is  one  at  Anker- 
wyke,  near  Windsor,  which  is  believed  to  be  1000  years 
old,  and  which,  therefore,  must  have  been  flourishing 
in  ripe  maturity  when  King  John  was  signing  Magna 
Charta  on  the  neighboring  Runnymede.  Another  famous 
yew  grew  near  Fountain's  Abbey,  whose  age,  as  indicated 
by  the  concentric  rings  of  its  trunk,  must  have  been  about 
12 14  years.  Scientific  deduction  was  in  this  instance  cor- 
roborated by  history  ;  for  it  is  on  record  that,  while  the 
abbey  was  being  built  in  1133,  the  monks  were  accustomed 
to  take  shelter  under  it  from  the  rain.  Mention  is  likewise 
made  of  another  yew,  which,  one  would  think,  must  have 
been  the  Methuselah  of  its  tribe,  for  its  age,  as  was  infer- 
red from  the  usual  structural  evidence,  reached  back  over 
a  space  of  2880  years.  Admitting  this  estimate  to  be  true, 
the  tree  must  have  been  planted  about  the  time  when  Sol- 


2*]2        Green   Things  upon  the  Earth. 

omon  began  to  reign  in  Israel.  The  great  botanist,  De 
Candolle,  believed  that  the  age  of  the  famous  Baobab  of 
the  Cape  de  Verde  Islands,  whose  circumference  is  [09 
feet,  reached  far  beyond  the  period  mentioned. 

Hardly  less  interesting  than  these  celebrated  trees  are 
the  lineal  descendants  and  last  existing  remnants  of  the 
primeval  forests  which  in  the  time  of  Caesar  and  Tacitus 
covered  our  island.  A  few  of  these  oaks,  with  the  badge 
of  their  ancient  pedigree  strongly  stamped  upon  them,  still 
linger  on  in  several  places  ;  and  their  venerable  aspect 
never  fails  to  suggest  that  they  belong  to  an  older  race 
of  trees  than  the  new-looking  generations  that  flourish 
around.  Such  are  the  noble  oaks  of  Cadzow,  near  Hamil- 
ton, the  true  descendants  of  those  Caledonian  forests 
which  root  back  beyond  the  beginnings  of  Scottish  history. 
In  various  parts  of  the  "  middle  south  "  of  England,  near 
Croydon,  for  example,  one  stumbles  now  and  then  upon  a 
group  of  patriarchal  oaks,  living  apart  by  themselves,  and 
far  out  of  the  way  of  woods  and  parks.  It  is  impossible 
for  a  moment  to  doubt  their  ancient  descent,  or  not  to  rec- 
ognize in  them  the  last  survivors  of  the  forest  of  Andred's 
Weald,  which  in  days  of  yore  spread  widely  over  this 
southern  district  of  England. 

Among  all  the  "green  things  upon  the  earth"  which 
crowd  around  to  attract  our  notice  there  are  none  which 
creep  in  about  our  hearts  like  certain  individual  trees. 
They  stand  apart  by  themselves,  and  are  regarded  by  us 
with  what  we  must  call  a  sentiment  of  affection,  if  such  an 
expression  may  be  used  toward  a  tree.  We  have  come  to 
know  them  so  well,  that  we  begin  almost  to  fancy  that  they 
must  know  us.  Trees,  moreover,  are  objects  around  which 
memory  twines  some  of  her  firmest  cords,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  they  appear  among  the  starting-points  of  our  rec- 
ollections. With  advancing  years  the  scenes  of  early  life 
grow  dim  in  spite  of  every  effort  to  retain  them  ;  and  in 
looking  back  at   the  vanishing  picture  we  often  see  the 


Green    Things  upon  the  Earth.       273 

form  of  a  tree  in  the  remote  distance.  Some  of  our  own 
earliest  remembrances  happen  to  be  associated  with  an 
old  laburnum.  In  those  far-off  days  it  was  our  ship.  In 
growing  it  had  spread  quaintly  into  three  stems  —  these 
were  the  masts  ;  and  the  branches,  by  which  we  swung 
ourselves  from  one  to  the  other,  were  the  ropes  and  rig- 
ging. Sometimes  it  was  calm,  and  then  we  reposed  lazily 
among  the  leafage  ;  at  other  times,  a  gale  was  supposed  to 
blow,  which  we. gallantly  rode  out  among  the  waving 
branches.  But  the  invariable  climax  of  our  enjoyment 
was  to  fancy  ourselves  shipwrecked,  and  then  with  loud 
shouts  we  swung  and  clambered  about  from  one  branch 
to  the  other  in  all  the  pleasurable  excitement  of  imaginary 
danger.  There  is  nothing  that  brings  back  the  treasured 
feelings  of  early  boyhood  with  greater  freshness  than  the 
sight  of  that  old  tree.  Most  people,  no  doubt,  have 
their  laburnum. 

How  wonderful  is  the  circulation  of  the  sap  !  Look  at 
a  huge  tree.  Let  the  eye  girth  its  full  proportions,  glance 
up  the  stem,  follow  the  branches,  and  try  to  estimate  the 
twigs  and  leaves.  Then  let  imagination  trace  the  corre- 
sponding labyrinth  of  root  and  fibres  underground.  How 
wonderful  to  reflect  that,  during  the  greater  part  of  the 
year,  a  stream  of  sap  gathered  in  the  soil  is  actively  flow- 
ing upward  through  root  and  stem,  branches  and  twigs, 
to  every  single  leaf  in  all  that  tower  of  foliage.  How 
mighty  the  intelligence  which  has  adjusted  the  atmos- 
pheric pressure  and  the  power  exercised  in  the  vessels 
and  cells  so  that  they  exactly  produce  the  force  required 
for  carrying  on  the  circulation  all  through  the  plant,  and 
which  has  accurately  meted  out  to  each  microscopic  cur- 
rent its  proper  strength,  so  that  it  shall  neither  flag  from 
want  of  impulse,  nor,  like  an  ill-regulated  torrent,  burst 
its  channel  and  destroy  instead  of  supporting  life.  In  the 
higher  classes  of  animals,  with  a  circulation  that  is  both 
shorter  and  less  opposed  to  gravity,  there  is  a  central 
18 


274        Green   Things  upon  the  Earth. 

heart  to  pump,  and  elastic  vessels  to  convey  the  blood ; 
but  here  there  is  no  heart  to  urge  on  the  current,  and  the 
vessels  are,  for  the  most  part,  stiff,  unyielding  tubes.  It  is 
now  many  years  since  Hales  first  demonstrated  the  force 
with  which  the  sap  is  propelled  in  plants  by  dividing  a 
vine  in  spring  and  connecting  the  lower  end  with  a  tube. 
He  then  found  that  the  sap  was  urged  upward  with  a 
power  equal  to  a  column  of  thirty-eight  inches  of  mercury, 
or  nearly  five  times  greater  than  the  current  in  trie  crural 
artery  of  a  horse.  The  forces  that  produce  this  startling 
result  are  somewhat  obscure.  Transpiration  from  the 
leaves  may  exert  a  suctional  action.  Chemico-vital  agen 
cies  are  doubtless  busily  at  work.  Capillary  attraction  as- 
sists, and  in  particular  that  curious  power  by  which  thick 
fluids  attract  thin  fluids  through  membranes  such  as  cell- 
walls,  and  to  which  the  term  endosmose  is  applied. 

In  all  that  relates  to  the  "  green  things  upon  the  earth  " 
we  see  evidences  of  design  and  care  not  less  striking 
than  those  we  admire  in  the  animal  kingdom.  It  may  be 
said  that  leaves  and  roots  have  a  power  which  reminds  us 
of  the  instinct  possessed  by  the  lower  animals.  Leaves 
cannot  perform  their  functions  without  light ;  hence  they 
invariably  seek  it  out,  one  might  say,  intuitively,  and  pre- 
sent to  it  their  upper  surface.  In  whatever  position  the 
seed  is  placed  in  the  ground  the  root  will  turn  downward, 
while  the  future  stem  will  grow  upward.  Again,  the  roots 
of  plants  contain  numerous  absorbent  vessels,  of  which 
the  ultimate  extremities,  or  "  spongioles,"  are  surrounded 
by  a  mass  of  tender  cells,  forming  a  kind  of  spongy  mem- 
brane through  which  the  nutriment  derived  from  the  soil 
must  pass  in  a  state  of  solution.  Now  these  rootlets  pos- 
sess a  certain  discrimination,  or  power  of  selecting  food, 
and  of  rejecting  what  would  be  poisonous  or  hurtful  to  the 
plant.  Besides  this  they  seek  out  the  nourishing  patches 
of  the  soil,  and  have  a  way  of  divining,  as  if  instinctively, 
where  the  richest  food  is  to  be  obtained.     The  root  of  the 


Green    Tilings  upon  the  Earth.       275 

famous  vine  at  Hampton  Court  once  fell  under  the  at- 
tractive influence  of  a  neighboring  sewer,  and  actually 
forced  its  way  through  solid  masonry  in  order  to  reach  it. 
A  case  even  more  remarkable  is  related  by  Dr.  Carpenter, 
in  which  a  drain  at  Thoresby  Park  was  found  blocked  up 
by  the  roots  of  some  gorse  growing  at  a  distance  of  six 
feet.  Another  instance  of  what  we  are  tempted  to  call  the 
instinctive  sagacity  of  roots  in  their  efforts  to  obtain  nour- 
ishment is  given  in  the  "Gardener's  Magazine"  for  1837. 
Near  the  river  Leven,  in  the  West  Highlands,  a  shoot  was 
thrown  out  from  the  bole  of  an  old  oak,  about  15  feet 
from  the  ground.  Receiving,  as  it  would  appear,  insuffi- 
cient nourishment  from  the  tree,  the  shoot  sent  a  root  first 
down  to  the  ground,  and  then  about  30  feet  onward  across 
a  bare  rock,  until  it  met  with  a  patch  of  suitable  soil,  in 
which  it  imbedded  itself.  Few  things  connected  with 
plants  are  more  remarkable  than  the  certainty  with  which 
they  detect  crevices  in  walls  or  other  solid  obstacles,  of 
which  they  take  advantage  and  pass  through  in  search  of 
food.  The  tender  rootlet  first  insinuates  itself,  and  then, 
under  the  thickening  and  hardening  process  of  subsequent 
growth,  it  becomes  an  ever-widening  wedge,  which  forces 
its  way  through  the  densest  soils,  loosens  blocks  of  ma- 
sonry, and  rends  even  solid  slabs  of  rock. 

Leaves  are  the  lungs,  or  gills,  of  plants,  where,  as  in  the 
higher  orders  of  animals,  the  nutritive  fluid  or  sap  is  per- 
fected by  the  action  of  the  air  for  the  purpose  of  forming 
the  different  tissues  and  secretions.  They  might  equally 
be  termed  aerial  roots,  for  they  extract  from  the  air  the 
chief  portion  of  the  carbon,  or  charcoal,  of  which  the 
wood  and  the  other  solid  parts  of  plants  mainly  consist. 
In  respect  to  this  important  part  of  their  nutrition,  there- 
fore, the  atmosphere  forms  an  inexhaustible  reservoir  of 
supply  in  which  the  leaves  are  always  plunged  —  a  pasture- 
field  in  which  they  browse  all  the  day  long. 

As  carbon  \s  a  solid  substance,  it  is  obvious  that  the 


276        Green   Things  upon  the  Earth. 

leaves  could  not  have  obtained  it  in  that  form ;  and  in 
order  that  it  might  be  brought  to  them  by  diffusion  through 
the  atmosphere,  it  was  essential  that  it  should  assume  the 
gaseous  state.  The  Creator,  therefore,  combined  it  with 
oxygen,  so  as  to  convert  it  into  carbonic  acid,  in  which 
condition  it  readily  diffuses  itself  through  the  air,  and 
sweeps  over  the  surface  of  every  leaf.  In  a  matter  so  im- 
portant Nature  has  left  nothing  uncertain,  but  has  so  ar- 
ranged it  that  the  mixture  shall  not  only  be  most  intimate, 
but  that  it  shall  be  of  uniform  strength,  and  that  no  part 
of  the  atmosphere  into  which  plants  can  penetrate  shall 
be  without  its  due  proportion.  This  supply  of  gaseous 
food,  as  has  been  elsewhere  pointed  out,  is  lavishly  pro- 
vided from  many  inexhaustible  sources.  When  stimulated 
by  light,  therefore,  plants  are  always  at  work  upon  the 
carbonic  acid  of  the  air,  decomposing  it  into  carbon,  with 
which  they  build  up  their  tissues,  and  into  oxygen,  which 
they  set  free  into  the  atmosphere. 

It  is  ever  the  thrifty  plan  of  Providence  to  combine  the 
performance  of  the  functions  of  one  order  of  living  things 
with  the  necessary  wants  of  another  ;  and  thus  all  parts 
of  the  animated  world  are  linked  together  by  the  benefi- 
cial interchange  of  good  offices.  Not  for  their  own  advan- 
tage only  do  plants  pick  out  the  carbon  from  the  atmos- 
phere ;  for  in  setting  the  oxygen  at  liberty  they  purify  the 
air  and  render  an  essential  service  to  the  whole  animal 
world.  The  carbonic  acid  which  the  plants  so  eagerly 
imbibe  is  a  poison  so  deadly  to  air-breathing  animals  that 
a  very  few  inspirations  of  it,  in  a  concentrated  state,  are 
sufficient  to  destroy  human  life  ;  while  an  atmosphere  con- 
taining even  so  small  a  proportion  as  ten  per  cent,  would 
be  fatal  if  used  in  ordinary  respiration.  Yet,  as  is  else- 
where pointed  out,  the  air  is  being  continually  flooded 
with  this  poison.  It  is  given  off  abundantly  from  the 
lungs  or  man  and  all  other  "air-breathers."  Volumes  of 
it  are  poured  into  the  air  during  the  combustion  of  sub- 


Green    Tilings  upon  the  Earth.       277 

stances  used  for  light  and  fuel.  Occasionally  it  streams 
from  cracks  in  the  earth,  especially  in  volcanic  countries, 
and  it  is  continually  rising  from  certain  mineral  waters. 
It  is,  therefore,  most  obvious  that  had  no  provision  been 
made  for  removing  the  poison,  the  accumulation  of  car- 
bonic acid  resulting  from  all  those  sources  would  have 
gradually  contaminated  the  air  to  an  extent  incomrjatible 
with  life.  But  the  Great  Architect  has  so  admirably  con- 
stituted the  livinsf  world  that  what  would  be  death  to  ani- 

o 

mals  is  life  to  plants,  and  that  what  we  get  rid  of  as  a 
poison,  they  necessarily  seize  as  food,  while  by  that  very 
act  they  restore  to  us  the  atmosphere  in  healthy  purity. 
Thus  the  alternate  conversion  goes  on  in  an  endless  chain. 
Nothing  is  lost  or  created  in  vain  ;  for  the  waste  and  ref- 
use of  one  kingdom  becomes  the  life  of  the  other. 

Although  oxygen  is  liberated  by  plants  during  the  day, 
the  process  is  of  course  invisible  when  it  is  performed  in 
the  air.  It  is  different  with  aquatic  plants,  for  as  they 
necessarily  operate  on  the  carbonic  acid  gas  diffused 
through  the  water,  the  bubbles  of  oxygen  when  liberated 
are  seen  rising  to  the  surface.  The  process,  indeed,  forms 
one  of  the  attractions  of  the  vivarium,  in  which  the  plants 
are  studded  all  over  with  myriads  of  bright  air-bells.  On 
a  larger  scale  the  same  operation  may  be  observed  going 
on,  while  the  sun  shines,  in  every  pond  and  brook  in 
whose  waters  vegetation  is  found.  In  every  one  of  these 
bells  there  is  a  minute  contribution  toward  the  purity  of 
the  atmosphere  ;  and  the  resulting  aggregate  of  oxygen 
obtained  from  all  the  plants  in  the  world  is  just  sufficient 
to  counteract  the  action  of  the  various  causes  constantly 
tending  to  deteriorate  it.  Thus  no  plant  on  which  the 
sun  shines  —  whether  it  flourish  on  the  surface  of  the 
earth  or  under  the  water  —  exists  in  idleness  or  passes  a 
useless  life.     All  work  for  Nature  in  their  appointed  way. 

Under  certain  circumstances,  and  more  especially  when 
the  air  is  moist,  leaves  absorb  much  invisible  vapor  and 


2y&        Green    Things  upon  the  Earth, 

grow  rapidly.  Some  plants,  even  when  they  are  removed 
from  the  ground  and  hung  up  in  the  conservatory,  absorb 
enough  of  carbon  and  water  to  keep  themselves  in  a  tol- 
erably healthy  state  ;  but  the  chief  supply  of  moisture  is 
taken  in  from  the  ground.  The  excess  that  is  absorbed  is 
transpired  by  the  leaves,  and  thus  the  juices  of  the  plant 
are  maintained  at  the  healthy  degree  of  concentration. 
In  hot  weather  the  balance  between  the  absorption  and 
transpiration  of  water  is  destroyed  ;  and  as  more  water 
passes  off  than  comes  in,  plant-life  languishes  and  droops. 
At  the  close  of  a  long  sultry  day  in  July  there  is  an  enjoy- 
ment to  be  derived  from  watering  plants,  which  in  a  certain 
far-off  way  reminds  us  of  giving  drink  to  a  thirsty  man. 
It  is  one  of  those  pleasing  labors  which  we  do  not  like  to 
see  thrown  away  upon  any  body  who  finds  nothing  in  them 
but  the  fatigue.  Is  it  extravagance  to  say  that  our  sympa- 
thy is  touched  when  we  mark  the  signs  of  suffering  which 
our  favorites  so  naturally  express  ?  and  is  it  not  difficult 
to.  divest  ourselves  of  the  impression  that  plants  enjoy  the 
refreshing  shower  in  some  mysterious  way  of  their  own  ? 
Never  do  they  fail  to  repay  the  little  service  with  ready 
gratitude.  Scarcely  have  the.  drops  fallen  before  they 
begin  to  raise  their  drooping  heads,  and  to  signal  their 
thanks  to  us  out  of  every  stiffening  leaf  and  flower.  Their 
whole  being  freshens  and  breathes,  expands,  inhales,  ex- 
hales. Their  air  of  flaccid  languor  disappears  as  if  by 
magic,  and  they  charm  us  once  more  by  their  look  of  ren- 
ovated vigor. 

There  is  a  grassy-looking  weed  that  grows  among  the 
sand  near  the  sea-shore.  Thousands  in  their  rambles  pass 
it  by  unheeded,  or  notice  it  only  as  an  unattractive  em- 
blem of  sterility.  It  is  so  coarse  in  texture  that  even 
hardy  cattle  turn  from  it  with  disdain.  Yet  this  sea-reed, 
Arundo  arenaria,  as  it  is  called,  performs  such  signal  ser- 
vice to  man  that  its  presence  in  this  particular  situation 
cannot   be    deemed   less  than  providential.       Many  low- 


Green    Things  upon  the  Earth.       279 

lying  coast-lands  require  to  be  defended  not  only  from  the 
sea,  but  also  from  the  sand  cast  ashore  by  the  waves. 
This  loose  sand  gradually  accumulates,  is  driven  hither 
and  thither  by  every  gale  of  wind,  and  has  a  tendency  to 
encroach  upon  the  fertile  fields,  and  convert  them  into 
desert  wastes.  The  threatened  danger  is  averted  by  this 
humble  plant,  and  the  slightest  consideration  of  its  habits  1 
demonstrates  that  it  was  specially  created  for  the  purpose. 
While  most  plants  instinctively  seek  out  the  richest  soils, 
this  one  prefers  the  driest  sands.  The  "  gritty  "  storms 
so  often  raging  around,  which  would  overwhelm  or  de- 
stroy the  tender  organization  of  other  plants,  beat  harm- 
lessly against  the  silicious  coverings  of  this  hardy  reed. 
In  striking  its  roots  into  the  sand  it  binds  the  loose  par- 
ticles together  ;  and,  as  its  sapless-looking  tufts  appear 
above  the  surface,  they  arrest  the  stony  current  as  it  is 
driven  along  by  the  wind,  and  consolidate  it  into  little 
mounds.  In  process  of  time  these  are  piled  up  into  the 
ivell-known  hillocks  by  the  growth  and  decay  of  countless 
generations  of  tufts.  Such  sand-hills  are  common  in  va- 
rious parts  of  Britain  where  the  coast  is  low  ;  but  they  are 
seen  on  a  more  extensive  scale  in  the  rugged  "  dunes  " 
which  stretch  in  almost  endless  succession  along  the 
shores  of  Holland.  Not  only  do  they  intercept  the  dev- 
astating progress  of  the  sand,  but  they  likewise  form  the 
stoutest  bulwark  against  the  encroachments  of  the  sea. 

The  common  broom  has  long  been  employed  in  the 
Landes  of  Aquitania  as  a  means  of  binding  the  low-lying 
tracts  of  sand,  and  preparing  them  for  the  growth  of  pine- 
forests.  Professor  Piazzi  Smith  informs  us  that  there  is  a 
kind  of  mountain-broom  which  grows  on  the  sterile,  shift- 
ing lava  sands  of  the  Peak  of  Teneriffe,  more  than  a  ver- 
tical mile  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  "  How  wonderful," 
he  eloquently  remarks,  "  the  adaptations  of  Nature  to  the 
necessities  of  various  regions  !  For  here,  where  the  cease- 
less motion  of  the  sliding  particles  composing  a  hill's  sides 


280         Green    Tilings  upon  the  Earth. 

destroys  every  other  living  thing  ;  where  the  aridity  of  the 
soil  during  many  months  is  only  surpassed  by  the  aridity 
of  the  air,  which  is  drier  than  that  of  the  Sahara,  Nature 
has  produced  a  plant  that  on  the  mere  remembrance  of 
winter  rain  long  since  evaporated,  can  furnish  no  con- 
temptible supply  of  wood  ;  and  with  its  richly  stored  white 
flowers,  arranged  in  close  rows  along  its  smaller  branches, 
affords  illimitable  honey-making  materials  to  all  the  bees 
of  the  country." 

There  is,  perhaps,  no  better  way  of  estimating  the  value 
of  God's  gifts  than  by  trying  to  realize  what  the  world 
would  have  been  without  them.  Conceive  the  variety  of 
uses  to  which  wood  is  daily  applied,  and  for  which  no 
other  substitute  could  be  found.  There  is,  in  fact,  hardly 
a  work  of  construction  that  goes  on  anywhere  into  which 
wood  does  not  almost  necessarily  enter.  The  growing 
employment  of  its  rival,  —  or  rather  let  us  with  thankful- 
ness say  its  twin-blessing,  —  iron,  serves  happily  to  econ- 
omize the  world's  decreasing  stores  of  wood,  but  it  does 
not  detract  from  the  value  of  this  inestimable  gift. 

The  most  serviceable  properties  of  wood,  hardness  and 
strength,  have  been  secured  by*  the  peculiar  way  in  which 
it  has  been  ordained  that  wood  should  grow.  If  the  myr- 
iads of  sap-vessels  and  cells  contained  in  the  tree  had 
been  equally  dispersed  through  its  whole  thickness,  the 
condition  of  the  timber  would  necessarily  have  been  soft 
and  prone  to  rot,  and  the  formation  of  that  dry,  hard,  and 
central  part,  which  from  its  soundness  we  call  the  heart- 
wood,  would  have  been  prevented.  Nature,  therefore,  with 
the  intent  of  making  her  work  more  useful  to  man,  has 
collected  the  chief  channels  of  the  sap  immediately  under 
the  bark.  It  is  here  that  the  layer  of  mucilaginous  cells 
and  vessels  is  found,  to  which  the  term  cambium  is  given. 
Here  is  the  chief  laboratory  of  the  tree,  and  here  the  prin- 
cipal formative  operations  are  carried  on.  Thus,  on  the 
outer  side  of  the  cambium  the  cells  are  periodically  laid 


Green   Things  upon  the  Earth.       281 

in  the  order  which  qualifies  them  in  due  time  to  assume 
the  functions  of  the  bark  ;  while,  on  the  inner  side  of  the 
layer,  the  cells  are  arranged  so  as  to  form  new  wood.  The 
annual  time  of  wood-manufacture  corresponds  to  the  season 
of  the  year  during  which  the  circulation  of  the  sap  is 
active  ;  and  it  stops  in  winter  when  the  flow  of  the  sap  has 
been  reduced  to  the  lowest  degree  compatible  with  the 
preservation  of  life.  Every  year's  increase  is  a  distinct 
and  separate  contribution  to  the  thickness  of  the  tree,  and 
is  represented  ever  afterward  by  one  of  those  "  concentric 
rings  "  with  which  all  are  familiar  in  cross  sections  of  the 
stem.  From  their  mode  of  formation,  therefore,  each  con- 
centric ring  indicates  a  period  of  one  year,  and  the  entire 
number  forms  one  of  the  most  reliable  data  from  which 
the  age  of  the  tree  may  be  calculated.  At  the  same  time 
this  rule  does  not  apply  under  all  circumstances.  In  trees 
that  are  evergreen,  for  example,  the  circles  are  indistinct, 
because,  as  the  leaves  are  always  present,  the  interruption 
to  the  circulation  of  the  sap,  on  which  the  line  of  separa- 
tion between  the  circles  depends,  does  not  at  any  season 
occur  in  so  marked  a  manner  as  in  trees  that  are  decidu- 
ous. In  some  equatorial  countries  with  peculiar  climates 
there  are,  it  is  said,  several  distinct  periods  of  growth  fol- 
lowed by  intervals  of  repose  during  every  year.  It  has 
been  asserted  that,  in  certain  parts  of  tropical  America, 
rings  in  trees  are  sometimes  to  be  found  for  every  month 
in  the  year. 

From  the  way  in  which  the  wood-mass  of  the  tree  is 
thus  built  up  year  after  year  in  regular  "  courses,"  it  fol- 
lows that  the  worst,  or  at  least  the  softest  timber,  is  found 
towards  the  outside  of  the  trunk.  Within  this  layer,  and 
more  especially  as  the  centre  is  approached,  the  hardness 
of  the  wood  increases,  because  no  new  growth  is  being 
carried  on  there,  and  because  the  old  lignite  cells,  which 
were  comparatively  soft  when  originally  deposited,  have  in 
the  course  of  years  gradually  become  blocked  up,  solidified, 


282        Green  Things  upon  the  Earth, 

and  hardened  by  the  thickening  of  their  walls.  On  this 
account  the  timber  of  the  tree  has  been  divided  into  the 
soft,  external  sap-wood,  or  alburnum,  and  the  hard,  internal 
heart-wood,  or  duramen.  Between  these  two  parts  of  the 
tree  the  color  is  often  very  conspicuous.  As  familiar  ex- 
amples may  be  mentioned  the  well-known  heart-wood  of 
the  ebony  and  the  laburnum.  Besides  these  the  black- 
walnut  is  remarkable  for  its  dark-brown  centre.  In  the 
barberry  the  heart-wood  is  yellow  ;  in  some  kinds  of  cedar 
it  is  purplish  red,  and  in  the  guaiacum-tree,  or  lignum 
vitae,  it  is  greenish.  When  we  reflect  that,  in  the  roots  of 
trees,  the  sap-vessels  are  distributed  through  the  whole 
substance,  making  the  wood  soft  and  useless  ;  while,  in 
the  stem,  this  order  has  been  changed,  and  they  have  been 
collected  under  the  bark,  by  which  means  the  chief  bulk 
of  the  timber  remains  hard  and  serviceable,  it  is  impossible 
not  to  perceive  that  there  is  here  the  clearest  evidence  of 
that  beneficent  planning  to  satisfy  our  wants  in  which  we 
recognize  the  hand  of  our  Heavenly  Father. 

One  of  the  most  mysterious  properties  of  plants  is  that 
of  regulating  their  temperature.  The  twigs  of  the  tree  are 
not  frozen  through  in  winter,  neither  does  their  tempera- 
ture mount  up  in  summer  in  'proportion  to  the  external 
heat.  Their  vitality  protects  them  equally  from  both  ex- 
tremes. The  bark,  moreover,  with  its  loose  texture  and 
included  air,  is  a  bad  conductor,  and  forms,  as  it  were,  a 
great-coat  in  which  the  plant  is  wrapped  up.  Many  trees 
perish  from  cold  when  stripped  of  their  bark.  Winter 
berries  differ  in  their  power  of  resisting  cold.  White  of 
Selborne  tells  us  that  the  haws  are  spoilt  by  the  first  sharp 
frost,  while  ivy-berries  do  not  seem  to  freeze,  but  "  afford 
a  noble  and  providential  supply  of  food  to  birds  in  winter 
and  spring."  The  surface  evaporation  in  summer  pro- 
duces, no  doubt,  a  certain  amount  of  freshness  in  the 
leaves,  and  we  know  how  cool  they  feel  even  in  hot  days. 
But   evaporation  does   not   explain  this  circumstance  in 


Green   Things  upon  the  Earth.       283 

regard  to  many  kinds  of  fruit  which  are  encased  in  an 
envelope  of  closest  texture  through  which  evaporation  is 
difficult  if  not  impossible.  The  coolness  of  fruit  in  hot 
climates  is  remarkable.  Dr.  Hooker  relates  that  the  juice 
of  the  milky  Mudar,  growing  by  the  side  of  the  Ganges, 
was  found  to  have  a  temperature  of  720  Fahrenheit,  while 
the  damp  sand  on  which  it  flourished  was  scorching  in  a 
heat  that  reached  from  900  to  104°,  But,  in  order  to 
enjoy  the  coolness  of  tropical  fruit  in  perfection,  it  must 
be  eaten  soon  after  it  has  been  gathered.  With  the  ex- 
tinction of  life  its  power  to  resist  heat  ceases  also,  and  by 
falling  under  the  same  laws  as  other  dead  matters,  it  soon 
acquires  their  temperature.  In  our  survey  of  the  "  green 
things  upon  the  earth  "  let  us  ever  gratefully  remember  the 
means  with  which  they  providentially  supply  us  for  com- 
bating most  of  the  diseases  to  which  flesh  is  heir.  Herbs 
possessing  medicinal  virtues  are,  like  mineral  waters, 
widely  distributed  over  the  globe.  The  most  valuable 
drugs  may,  perhaps,  be  considered  as  limited  more  espe- 
cially to  tropical  countries,  where  the  stimuli  of  light  and 
heat,  being  at  their  highest  power,  develop  in  perfection 
the  various  vegetable  principles  ;  but  commerce  has  abun- 
dantly placed  most  of  them  within  our  reach.  Yet  even 
to  countries  situated  in  higher  latitudes  Providence  has 
been  bountiful.  As  for  ourselves,  it  may  be  said  that, 
were  the  supply  of  foreign  drugs  to  fail,  we  could  still 
obtain  from  our  native  plants  a  "  materia  medica  "  of  the 
utmost  value.  Time  was  when  every  abbey  and  monastery 
in  the  land  had  its  "  physic  garden "  and  its  stores  of 
simples  ;  and  when  the  priest,  on  whose  skill  the  whole 
district  was  dependent,  searched  the  woods  and  meadows 
in  quest  of  the  herbs  with  which  he  was  to  assuage  suf- 
fering. 

As  autumn  draws  on,  the  leaves  begin  to  prepare  for  a 
new  sphere  of  usefulness  ;  for  as  yet  they  have  been  pass- 
ing through  one  phase  only  of  their  mission  in  Nature's 


284        Green   Things  upon  the  Earth. 

economy.  Yet  what  a  life  of  beneficent  activity  has  been 
theirs  since  they  issued  from  the  bud  in  spring  !  First,  let 
us  thankfully  acknowledge  how  much  they  have  contrib- 
uted by  their  beauty  to  gladden  the  aspect  of  the  earth. 
They  have  moderated  evaporation  from  the  soil,  and 
shielded  it  from  excessive  heat  and  cold.  Under  the 
thick  foliage  cattle  have  enjoyed  a  welcome  shelter  from 
sun  and  storm,  and  many  a  timid  creature  has  found  there 
a  safe  refuge  against  pursuing  enemies.  Every  single  leaf 
has  done  its  part  in  the  work  of  perfecting  the  sap  of  the 
plant  on  which  it  lived.  Leaves  have  purified  the  atmos- 
phere which  was  contaminated,  and  have  prepared  it  anew 
for  the  respiration  of  the  animal  world.  But  now  "  the 
turn  of  the  year  "  is  upon  them.  Their  pleasing  tints  of 
green  are  passing  into  warning  shades  of  red  and  yellow. 
The  flow  of  sap  grows  languid  in  their  veins,  and  the  sharp 
night  frosts  shrivel  and  crisp  them  up.  The  melancholy 
"  fall  "  is  at  hand.  The  vitality  of  the  shed  foliage  is  gone, 
and  it  is  about  to  be  made  subject  to  the  action  of  another 
Power  of  the  Lord.  Upheld  no  longer  by  life,  the  leaves 
must  yield  themselves,  like  the  other  dead  matter  around, 
to  the  inexorable  laws  of  chemistry.  Wind  and  weather 
will  soon  break  up  their  delicate*  texture,  until,  reduced  at 
length  to  mold,  they  will  mix  with  and  enrich  the  soil,  and 
serve  in  their  turn  as  food  for  other  plants.  Not  a  leaf 
will  be  lost,  for  each  will  contribute  something  toward  the 
general  good.  Thus  amid  the  boundless  profusion  of 
Nature  economy  is  ever  the  ruling  law.  The  fragments 
are  gathered,  and  nothing  is  wasted.  BoUntifulness  and 
thrift  go  hand  in  hand. 

Great  is  the  enjoyment  associated  with  the  hours  spent 
among  the  "  green  things  of  the  earth,"  when  every  sense 
we  possess  was  gratified  in  its  turn.  There  was  beauty  for 
the  eye,  perfumes  floated  in  the  air,  and  sounds  that  were 
sweet  and  fascinating  broke  pleasingly  upon  the  ear.  The 
treat  was  one  we  could  not  prize  too  highly,  for  our  Father 


Green  Things  upon  the  Earth,       285 

himself  spread  it  out  before  us  for  our  enjoyment.  Nature 
might  have  been  made  dull,  colorless,  silent,  and  ugly,  or 
we  might  have  been  formed  without  the  power  to  appreci- 
ate it  •  but  the  Creator  has  made  it  lovely,  and  has  given 
us  minds  to  see  and  feel  its  loveliness.  Shall  we  not,  then, 
cherish  the  gift  ?  Can  we  for  a  moment  doubt  that  if  we 
neglect  or  despise  it  we  are  to  a  certain  extent  frustrating 
the  purpose  for  which  it  was  bestowed  ? 

Our  Lord  Himself  illustrated  many  of  his  precepts  by 
examples  derived  from  the  vegetable  kingdom.  The  lilies, 
the  wheat  and  the  tares,  and  the  grain  of  mustard-seed,  are 
all  associated  in  our  minds  with  His  teaching.  Moral 
lessons  —  calls  to  duty  —  causes  for  thankfulness  —  rea- 
sons for  praise  —  the  desire  to  adore,  flow  gently  in  upon 
our  thoughtful  contemplations  in  field  and  forest.  In  sur- 
veying "  the  green  things  upon  the  earth  "  we  see  how  un- 
speakably our  Father  has  blessed  and  cared  for  us.  We 
look  and  analyze,  we  trace,  calculate,  and  study  the  All- 
merciful  and  the  All-wise,  and  our  hearts  are  filled  to  over- 
flowing with  "wonder,  love,  and  praise." 

"  Let  all  Thy  works  praise  Thee,  O  Lord,"  or,  as  it  mighl 
be  expressed,  Let  Thy  children,  inspired  by  the  contempla- 
tion of  Thy  works,  praise  Thee,  as  the  Psalmist  exhorts, 
"  with  understanding."  Viewed  in  this  light  the  plantal 
world  is  no  longer  silent,  but  justifies  through  us  the  invo- 
cation of  the  Benedicite.  It  speaks  in  a  language  almost 
infinitely  varied,  but  the  lofty  theme  it  proclaims  is  evei 
the  same.  Like  the  "  voices  of  the  stars,"  the  green  things 
upon  the  earth  are  truly  a  fair  Hymn  of  Praise,  written  all 
over  the  land,  not  in  words,  but  in  living  characters  of 
beauty.  May  we  not  also  regard  them  as  smiling  moni- 
tors placed  everywhere  around  our  path  to  whisper  to  us 
thoughts  of  God's  greatness  and  love  ? 

Delight  thou  in  the  Lord;  and  He  shall  give  thee  thy  heart's  desire.—* 

Ps.  xxxvii. 


BEASTS  AND    CATTLE. 

O  all  ye  Beasts  and  Cattle,  bless  ye  the  Lord:  f raise  Him,  and 
magnify  Him  for  ever. 

F  all  the  scientific  pursuits  that  can  form  the  ob- 
ject of  man's  study,  that  of  Natural  History  is, 
U  after  Astronomy  perhaps,  the  most  fascinating. 
Its  class-room  is  the  fair  field  of  Nature,  its  facts  charm  us 
by  their  intrinsic  interest,  and  its  revelations  not  only  con- 
tribute to  our  enjoyment,  but,  by  exhibiting  the  perfection 
with  which  every  creature  has  been  constructed  with  refer- 
ence to  its  way  of  life,  lead  our  thoughts  adoringly  upward 
to  the  Creator.  No  pursuit  forms  a  more  healthy  relaxa- 
tion for  the  body,  or  a  better  training  for  the  mind.  It 
exercises  memory,  patience,  judgment,  and  reason  ;  it  culti- 
vates the  habit  of  observation,  and  confers  a  taste  for  order 
and  exactness.  The  frequent  contemplation  of  the  har- 
mony, wisdom,  and  beneficence  therein  displayed  surely 
accomplishes  an  improving  effect  upon  the  mind.  If,  in- 
deed, Natural  History  were  to  be  followed  for  its  own  sake 
merely,  and  if  we  were  to  rest  satisfied  with  intelligently 
admiring  its  many  pleasing  marvels,  its  highest  purpose 
would  be  overlooked,  and  it  would  lack  its  crowning  value. 
Nowhere  is  God's  beneficent  consideration  for  man's 
wants  more  conspicuously  seen  than  in  the  class  of  ani- 
mals to  which  "  Beasts  and  Cattle  "  belong.  In  the  nat- 
ural exercise  of  that  dominion  over  them  with  which  we 
have  been  intrusted,  we  derive  from  them  one  of  our  most 
important  supplies  of  food.  There  is,  indeed,  scarcely 
any  thing  entering  into  the  structure  of  cattle  which  does 


Beasts  and  Cattle.  287 

not,  directly  or  indirectly,  minister  to  man's  comfort. 
Their  hides  form  the  best  protection  to  the  feet,  and  are 
applied  to  a  thousand  useful  purposes  besides  ;  we  get  glue 
and  parchment  from  them  ;  out  of  their  horns  are  made  a 
variety  of  serviceable  articles ;  and  we  grind  down  their 
bones  to  fertilize  the  fields.  Nor  are  they  less  valuable 
gifts  while  living,  and  the  exactness  with  which  they  re- 
spond to  many  of  the  most  obvious  requirements  of  man 
cannot  be  regarded  otherwise  than  as  providential.  Man 
needed  an  assistant  to  carry  his  burdens,  to  work  for  him 
in  the  fields,  to  bear  him  swiftly  on  his  journeys  —  and 
finds  that  assistant  in  the  horse.  It  is  unnecessary  to 
pause  here,  to  point  out  the  thousand  other  ways  in  which 
the  horse  is  serviceable  to  man,  or  how  much  would  have 
been  lost  to  the  comfort  of  life  had  this  single  creation 
been  omitted.  Either  naturally,  or  under  the  fostering 
care  of  man,  the  horse  is  to  be  found  in  almost  every  land 
outside  the  polar  circles.  Yet  there  are  a  few  spots  in  the 
world,  like  the  Arabian  desert,  for  which  the  horse  is  un- 
fitted, and  for  which  special  requirements  are  necessary  — 
so  God  created  the  camel. 

In  no  animal  are  the  evidences  of  design  more  con- 
spicuous than  in  the  camel.  In  it  we  see  the  good  quali- 
ties of  the  horse,  as  it  were,  supplemented,  and  various 
structures  modified,  with  the  obvious  intention  of  adapt- 
ing it  to  the  special  work  it  has  to  perform.  Not  only  is 
the  "  ship  of  the  desert  "  docile  and  strong  to  qualify  it  to 
be  a  beast  of  burden,  but  its  feet  are  cushioned  with  elastic 
and  expansile  pads,  which  spread  out  into  broad  flat  sur- 
faces when  pressed  on  by  the  weight  of  the  body.  It  is 
evident  that  the  camel  has  thus  been  shod  in  order  that  it 
might  stalk  across  the  loose  sand  without  sinking  into  it. 
Nor  is  it  constructed  internally  with  less  careful  reference 
to  the  special  nature  of  its  work.  One  great  danger 
which  animals  incur  in  crossing  the  desert  arises  from  the 
want  of  water  :  but  the  camel  carries  its  own  supply  in  a 


288  Beasts  and  Cattle. 

sort  of  internal  tank.  Thus  a  part  of  its  complex  stomach 
is  set  round  with  deep  cells  or  sacs  —  little  barrels,  they 
might  be  called  —  which  are  filled  with  water  as  opportuni- 
ties may  occur,  and  they  are  then  by  the  constriction  of 
their  orifices  shut  off  from  communication  with  the  rest  of 
the  cavity.  When  the  camel  requires  to  draw  upon  this 
store  the  orifices  are  relaxed,  and  the  cell  compressed  so 
as  to  empty  out  the  water.  By  means  of  this  special  con- 
trivance the  camel  can  journey  in  the  desert  several  days 
without  drinking  even  in  sultry  weather.  Its  adaptation 
to  its  work  has  been  further  perfected  by  the  remarkable 
acuteness  of  the  sense  of  smell,  by  which  it  is  said  to  scent 
the  presence  of  water  at  the  distance  of  half  a  league. 
Its  power  of  subsisting  on  such  hardy  fare  as  the  coarse 
herbage  of  the  desert,  and  the  leaves  and  twigs  of  trees 
occasionally  met  with  in  the  oases,  as  well  as  the  sharp, 
strong  teeth  fitted  for  cutting  and  grinding  them,  are  ad- 
ditional proofs  of  wise  design.  As  no  organ  is  more  apt 
to  suffer  from  the  heat  and  glare  of  the  sand  than  the  eye, 
the  camel  has  prominent,  overhanging  eyebrows,  and  this 
light-shield  is  made  still  more  perfect  by  long  thick  eye- 
lashes. During  the  wild  tumult  of  the  simoom  every  thing 
living  tries  to  keep  out  the  clouds  of  hot  dust  that  are 
borne  along  by  the  wind.  On  this  account  the  nostril  of 
the  camel  is  not  wide  and  patent,  as  in  the  horse,  but  a 
mere  slit,  which  can  be  firmly  closed  at  will  as  with  a  lid. 

In  a  certain  sense  the  camel  may  be  said  to  carry  with 
it  a  supply  of  meat  as  well  as  drink,  for  the  hump  on  its 
back  is  chiefly  composed  of  fat  stored  up  in  time  of  abun- 
dance to  be  drawn  upon  in  time  of  scarcity.  In  the 
course  of  long  journeys,  if  food  be  wanted,  the  hump 
wears  away,  and  it  requires  a  course  of  good  feeding  be- 
fore it  is  restored. 

In  loading  the  camel  it  is  made  to  kneel  clown  to  facili- 
tate the  operation,  and  in  order  that  its  knees  may  not 
suffer   fr:>m  rubbing   or   pressure,  they  are  naturally  de- 


Beasts  and  Cattle.  289 

fended  by  callous  pads  placed  where  the  chief  pressure  is 
sustained.  These  pads,  as  well  as  another  situated  on  the 
chest,  serve  for  the  camel  to  rest  upon  in  reposing. 

An  animal  very  analogous  to  the  camel  is  seen  in  the 
llama  of  the  Andes  ;  but  a  point  of  difference  in  their 
structure  may  be  here  noticed,  as  it  has  an  obvious  relation 
to  the  field  of  labor  designed  for  each.  The  camel  travels 
over  the  flat,  loose  sand,  and  has  a  broad  expanded  foot , 
but  the  llama  is  intended  to  climb  the  steep  mountain 
slopes,  and  is  furnished  with  a  cleft  hoof,  the  ends  of 
which  are  prolonged  into  a  kind  of  hook  or  claw,  by  which 
its  foot-hold  is  made  more  certain. 

In  tropical  countries,  where  excessive  heat  in  some 
measure  disqualifies  man  for  severe  exertion,  and  where 
more  aid  in  performing  the  heavier  parts  of  labor  is  re- 
quired, he  finds  an  invaluable  servant  in  the  docile  ele- 
phant. Whole  volumes  have,  ere  now,  been  written  to 
illustrate  the  sagacity  and  usefulness  of  this  animal.  His 
structure,  too,  offers  many  points  of  admirable  contrivance, 
into  which  want  of  space  prevents  us  from  now  entering. 

In  northern  countries,  beyond  the  natural  limits  of  horse 
and  donkey,  a  substitute  was  needed  which  might  carry  on 
the  work  of  transport,  and  yet  live  amid  the  snows  on  the 
roughest  fare.  The  elk  and,  more  especially,  the  reindeer 
fill  up  the  gap,  and  place  their  strength  and  fleetness  at 
the  service  of  man.  The  range  of  the  reindeer  is  very 
extensive.  From  the  northern  parts  of  Sweden  and  Nor- 
way it  extends  deep  into  the  polar  regions,  and  this  animal 
is  said  to  flourish  in  perfection  among  the  inhospitable 
regions  of  Spitzbergen.  Its  very  appetite  and  powers  of 
digestion  are  molded  on  the  productions  of  the  home 
which  Nature  has  given  to  it.  Though  the  climate  is  un- 
favorable to  grass  and  cereals,  many  of  the  forest-trees, 
and  much  even  of  the  most  barren  land,  are  abundantly 
covered  with  lichens,  of  which  the  animal  is  fond.  A  Lap 
who  is  fortunate  enough  to  possess  plenty  of  ground  whit- 

19 


290  Beasts  and  Cattle. 

ened  over  with  lichen,  surveys  it  with  feelings  akin  to 
those  with  which  a  farmer  might  regard  his  promising 
fields  of  wheat  or  barley.  He  regulates  his  movements 
by  the  wants  and  likings  of  his  precious  reindeer.  In  win- 
ter, it  lives  amid  the  rough  shelter  of  the  woods  :  in  sum- 
mer, when  the  mosquito  drives  the  herd  from  the  forests, 
he  repairs  with  it  to  the  higher  grounds,  where  it  finds 
food  and  coolness.  Its  acute  sense  of  smell  guides  it  to 
where  the  lichen  grows,  where  it  "  routs  like  swine,"  or 
clears  away  the  snow  with  its  fore-feet.  In  case  of  need 
Nature  has  armed  the  reindeer's  head  for  a  part  of  the 
year  with  a  shovel  and  a  pick  conveniently  placed  just 
over  their  muzzle.  No  one  can  look  upon  those  brow 
antlers,  of  which  at  least  one  is  flattened  out  like  a  spade 
and  tipped  with  horn  almost  as  hard  as  ivory,  without  the 
conviction  that  they  were  designed  for  this  special  pur- 
pose. 

The  hardy  Laplander's  riches  centre  in  his  reindeer.  It 
is  his  beast  of  burden,  and  his  carriage-horse.  Seated  in 
his  sledge  he  traverses  long  journeys  with  great  rapidity. 
A  distance  of  150  miles  in  19  hours  is  not  considered 
a  great  feat,  and  many  most  marvelous  exploits  are  re- 
corded. The  reindeer  supplies  his  owner  with  milk  and 
cheese  for  the  winter,  and  with  an  ever-ready  store  of  veni- 
son. Like  cattle  elsewhere,  every  thing  about  this  animal 
is  of  use.  The  hide  makes  shoes  and  the  warmest  of 
winter  wraps.  The  skin  of  an  allied  animal,  the  cariboo 
of  North  America,  supplies  a  cloak  so  warm  that  it  en- 
ables its  wearer  to  defy  with  safety  the  rigor  of  an  Arctic 
night.  Consistently  with  the  established  order  of  things 
the  Laplander  could  not  have  horses  or  cows,  wheat  or 
hay  •  but  Providence  has  given  him  a  kind  of  "  Cattle  " 
substitute,  which  in  itself  supplies  all  his  requirements,  and 
has  combined  with  this  gift  the  growth  of  a  hardy  lichen 
which  is  better  adapted  for  its  food  than  the  finest  hay. 

Man  needed,  moreover,  a  confidential  friend  to  guard 


Beasts  and  Cattle.  291 

his  house  and  property,  to  lighten  his  labors  by  sagacious 
activity  in  tending  flocks  and  herds,  and  to  help  him  by 
instinct  and  fleetness  in  the  chase.  Such  a  friend  is  found 
in  the  dog,  the  most  loyal  and  trusty  of  the  brute  creation 
For  man's  sake  the  dog  has  forsaken  its  gregarious  in- 
stincts, and  the  company  of  its  fellows,  in  order  to  become 
his  attached  servant  and  companion.  The  dog  is  brave, 
intelligent,  honest,  unselfish,  and  submissive.  The  camel 
is  a  substitute  for  the  horse,  and  the  reindeer  is  in  some 
degree  a  substitute  for  both  ;  but  nowhere  on  earth  could 
a  fitting  substitute  be  found  for  the  faithful  dog.  Beyond 
the  limits  of  the  reindeer  the  Esquimau  is  carried  swiftly 
and  safely  in  his  sledge  over  the  frozen  seas  of  Greenland 
by  the  aid  of  his  team  of  dogs,  and  many  a  life  is  saved 
by  their  untiring  exertion.  Thus  the  geographical  distri- 
bution of  this  "  good  gift  "  has  been  made  almost  univer- 
sal, and  from  the  Equator  to  Kamschatka  the  ubiquitous 
dog  is  found  doing  his  appointed  work. 

Not  only  are  the  animals  of  polar  regions  wrapped  up 
in  thickest  fur,  but  they  are  generally  clad  in  white  —  a 
color  which  economizes  the  internal  heat  by  diminishing 
radiation  from  the  surface.  Many  animals  in  Northern 
countries,  as  ptarmigan  and  hares,  which  are  of  a  speckly 
or  bluish  color  during  the  summer  months,  change  more 
or  less  to  white  in  winter,  and  for  the  same  reason.  Ani- 
mals living  in  polar  climates  are  remarkable  for  the  abun- 
dance of  their  fat,  which  acts  as  a  blanket  to  keep  them 
warm  when  living,  and,  when  killed  in  the  chase,  affords 
large  supplies  of  carbonaceous  food  to  the  natives  to  main- 
tain the  needful  temperature  of  the  body  in  winter  by 
being  burnt  in  the  lungs.  These  are  points  with  which 
most  persons  are  familiar,  but  they  illustrate  very  strik- 
ingly how,  even  in  minute  matters,  the  peculiarities  of 
animals  are  adjusted  and  designed  according  to  the  neces- 
sities of  their  position,  and  with  reference  to  the  special 
wants  of  mankind  around  them. 


292  Beasts  and  Cattle. 

How  widely,  also,  another  of  God's  best  gifts  —  the 
sheep  —  has  been  distributed  over  the  world,  partly  by  the 
hand  of  Nature,  partly  through  the  agency  of  man.  The 
wool  which  it  supplies  so  abundantly  for  clothing  takes 
equal  rank  with  flax  and  cotton.  Originally  coarse  and 
harsh,  it  has  by  degrees  been  brought  to  its  present  per- 
fection by  the  persevering  skill  and  industry  of  man.  The 
wool  of  neglected  flocks  soon  degenerates,  and  would  ul- 
timately resume  the  coarseness  of  the  rough-haired,  prim- 
itive wild  sheep  of  Siberia. 

When  our  colonists  first  went  to  New  South  Wales  it 
was  remarked  that  no  representative  of  the  tribe  of  oxen 
was  to  be  seen.  Pastures  were  there  of  the  richest  kind 
and  of  almost  unlimited  extent,  but  in  so  far  as  cattle 
were  concerned  these  resources  appeared  thrown  away. 
A  little  further  observation,  however,  seemed  to  indicate 
in  this  anomaly  a  wise  and  benevolent  design.  The  cli- 
mate in  many  parts  of  Australia  is  peculiar,  and  subject  to 
droughts  of  such  severity  as  to  dry  up  the  rivers,  as  well 
as  the  deep  natural  water-tanks  hollowed  out  in  their 
course.  At  other  times  the  withered,  tinder-like  grass 
takes  fire,  and  the  conflagration  rapidly  spreads  itself  over 
extensive  districts.  Let  us  Imagine  what  would  most 
probably  have  occurred  in  such  a  case  had  there  been 
cows  and  calves  on  these  pasture  grounds.  The  dams 
might  perhaps  have  escaped  by  abandoning  their  young  ; 
but  the  latter,  not  having  the  strength  to  migrate,  would 
have  been  overtaken  by  swift  destruction.  Instead  of 
oxen,  the  settlers  found  an  animal  of  a  different  and  pecul- 
iar type  in  possession  of  these  prairies,  which  seemed  as 
if  it  had  been  designed  to  cope  with  the  difficulties  of  the 
climate.  The  Kangaroo  has  locomotive  powers  very  su- 
perior to  the  cow,  but  its  distinguishing  feature  is  the 
marsupial  pouch  destined  for  the  reception  and  preserva- 
tion of  its  young.  In  case  of  necessity  these  could  take 
refuge  in  the    pouch,  and,  holding   on  firmly  with    their 


Beasts  and  Cattle,  293 

mouths,  could  be  safely  transported  by  the  mother  to  a 
place  of  greater  abundance  or  of  safety.  But  when  civ- 
ilized man  appears  upon  the  scene,  a  new  page  is  opened 
in  the  design  of  Providence.  The  mission  of  the  Kanga- 
roo is  drawing  to  a  close,  and  it  must  give  way  to  more 
valuable  tenants.  An  intelligence  is  now  on  the  spot  which 
can  in  a  great  measure  overcome  the  difficulties  ,of  the 
climate.  The  farmer  can  dig  tanks  in  which  the  water 
will  not  easily  dry  up  :  he  can  in  some  measure  circum- 
scribe the  conflagration  ;  in  time  of  drought  he  can  lead 
the  cattle  to  streams  by  whose  banks  green  herbage  is 
still  to  be  founcj ;  and  he  can  lay  up  stores  of  hay  and 
other  provisions  against  the  winter's  scarcity.  Had  cattle 
been  previously  introduced,  they  might  often  have  been 
exposed  even  to  worse  tortures  than  those  which  Hum- 
boldt describes  as  overtaking  the  wild  cattle  of  South 
America  in  seasons  of  inundation. 

The  buffalo  and  the  bison  afford  striking  examples  of 
the  way  in  which  the  normal  structure  of  an  animal  is 
often  materially  modified  in  accordance  with  necessities 
arising  from  the  physical  character  of  the  country  it  in- 
habits. In  dry  districts  their  feet  are  compact  and  have 
comparatively  narrow  hoofs  ;  but  in  swampy  districts,  and 
by  the  side  of  low  marshy  rivers,  this  kind  of  hoof  would 
be  a  serious  defect.  In  process  of  time,  therefore,  it  flat- 
tens and  expands  considerably,  so  as  to  counteract  the 
tendency  to  sink  into  the  mud. 

In  tropical  countries  the  elephant  has  got  a  skin  which 
is  nearly  destitute  of  hair.  The  climate  supplies  the  ne- 
cessary amount  of  warmth.  But  in  the  extinct  Siberian 
elephant  or  mammoth  which  lived  upon  the  verge  of  the 
ice.  the  skin  was  doubly  covered  with  a  thick,  short  fur, 
and  with  long  hair.  This  structure  is  clearly  shown  in  the 
famous  specimen  obtained  from  the  ice  of  the  river  Lena, 
and  of  which  the  skeleton  is  preserved  at  St.  Petersburg. 
A  piece  of  skin  from  the  same  animal  is  likewise  exhibited 
in  the  museum  of  the  Royal  College  of  Surgeons. 


294  Beasts  and  Cattle. 

We  do  not  always  judge  wild  animals  fairly.  We  are 
apt  to  regard  their  savage  nature  as  almost  a  blot  in  the 
plan  of  creation,  and  we  feel  puzzled  in  our  attempts  to 
reconcile  it  with  universal  benevolence.  Ferocity  in  such 
animals  is  invariably  the  result  of  a  structure  which  has 
been  carefully  designed  for  a  good  purpose,  and  is  by  no 
means  an  indication  of  innate  cruelty.  When  considered 
in  relation  to  their  obvious  mission  of  checking  such  an 
increase  of  animals  as  would  be  fatal  to  the  general  wel- 
fare, and  with  reference  to  their  necessary  mode  of  living, 
this  ferocity,  so  far  from  tending  to  augment  suffering,  tends 
directly  to  diminish  it.  The  habits  of  an  animal  may  be 
said  to  depend  upon  the  shape  of  its  teeth,  or,  to  speak 
more  correctly,  both  have  been  consistently  adjusted  to 
each  other.  If  we  examine  the  mouth  of  a  tiger  or  hyena, 
nothing  is  more  clear  than  that  it  is  designed  to  seize  and 
rend  a  living  prey.  Now  the  more  ferocious  animals  are, 
the  more  effectively  they  will  use  their  teeth,  and  the  sooner 
will  death  relieve  their  victims  from  suffering ;  but  had 
such  teeth  been  engrafted  upon  a  milder  nature,  the  prey 
might  have  been  killed  in  a  way  that  would  have  been 
slow  torture.  Hence  there  is  designed  mercy  in  their 
savageness,  and  Nature  in"  putting  those  fearful  weapons 
into  their  mouths  has  aimed  at  shortening  the  pang  of 
dying.  Not  forgetful  of  the  evil  which  the  unrestrained 
exercise  of  such  power  for  destruction  might  bring  upon 
weaker  animals,  the  propensity  to  kill  has  generally  been 
subordinated  to  the  calls  of  hunger.  A  lion  or  a  boa  con- 
strictor reposes  peaceably  as  soon  as  its  appetite  has  been 
appeased  ;  a  lion-tamer  is  careful  not  to  enter  the  den  until 
the  half-subdued  monsters  have  been  fed  ;  and  even  a 
pike,  whose  disposition  has  been  more  especially  branded 
with  cruelty,  seems  to  inspire  little  terror  among  surround- 
ing fishes  as  soon  as  he  is  gorged. 

For  wanton  cruelty  we  must  go,  alas  !  to  civilized  life. 
It  is  probably  unknown  among  animals  in  a  wild  state, 


Beasts  and  Cattle.  295 

although,  in  carrying  out  certain  purposes  of  Providence, 
all  the  appearances  of  cruelty  are    sometimes    assumed. 
To  take  an  instance  from  the  class  of  insects  :  —  what  at 
first  sight  appears  more  repulsively  cruel  than  the  wholesale 
slaughter  which  goes  on  in  a  wasp's  nest  at  the  approach 
of  winter  ?     Wasps  labor  under  a  bad  character,  but,  what- 
ever their  failings  may  be,  nobody  ever  accused  them  of 
want  of  tenderness  for   their    offspring.     They  tend    the 
cells  where  the  eggs  are  hatched,  and  they  nurse  the  new- 
born grubs  with  a  devotion  quite  equal  to  that  displayed 
by   their   more   esteemed   neighbors    the   bees.     Yet    no 
sooner  does  the  first  sharp  pinch  of  frost  nip  them  in  the 
autumn,  than    their   whole    nature    undergoes    a   change. 
Their  love,  by  some  mysterious    impulse   of  instinct,  is 
then  converted  into  fury,  and,  falling  on  the  young  brood 
of  the    nest,  they  ruthlessly  destroy  them   all.     But,  we 
may  ask,  if  these  grubs  had  been  soared,  would  their  fate 
have  been  improved  ?     The  summer  mission  of  the  wasps 
was  ended,  food  was  getting  scarce,  and  starvation  was  in 
immediate  prospect,  so  Nature  sent  the  voracious  grubs  a 
speedy  death,  instead  of  a  lingering  torture.     Few  of  the 
executioners,  however,  long  survive  the  desolation  of  their 
home,  and  in  the  extinction  of  both  man  may  recognize  a 
mercy  to  himself.     The  progeny  of  a  single  wasp  in  spring 
mounts  up  to  20,000  or  30,000  before  the  end  of  autumn, 
and  if  most  of  these  were  to  survive  the  winter,  the  spe- 
cies would  increase  at  a  rate  which  would  be  incompat- 
ible with  man's  comfort,  if  not  with  his  existence.     What 
food  is  there  which  he  would  have  been  able  to  preserve 
from  their  ravages  ? 

His  mercy  is  over  all  His  works.  —  Ps.  cxlv. 

Among  the  influences  most  injurious  to  the  health  of 
man  are  the  emanations  arising  from  animal  and  vegeta- 
ble substances  in  a  state  of  decay.  To  mitigate  this  evil, 
we  enforce  our  sanatory  laws,  we  build  sewers,  we  fumi- 


296  Beasts  and  Cattle. 

gate  and  whitewash.  But  there  are  nooks  which  brushes 
cannot  reach,  and  our  war  with  the  inevitable  results  of 
decomposition  would  have  been  unsuccessful  had  not 
Nature  herself  come  to  the  rescue  with  her  powerful  aids. 
There  are  winds  which  search  our  streets  and  courts,  and 
dissipate  many  a  gathering  animal  poison  wherein  -pesti1- 
lence  is  secretly  breeding ;  there  are  rains  which  wash  our 
walls,  scour  our  ways,  and  flush  our  sewers,  and  float  away 
the  seeds  of  disease.  In  polar  regions,  where  life  is  com- 
paratively scarce,  and  decomposition  is  limited  to  the  brief 
interval  of  summer,  nothing  is  needed  in  a  general  way  to 
purify  the  air.  But  in  tropical  climates,  where  life  teems 
and  heat  and  moisture  stimulate  decomposition,  scaven- 
gers are  especially  needed ;  and  while  man  has  done  least, 
Nature  has  there  done  most,  to  carry  on  the  necessary 
work.  Without  Nature's  aid  many  a  village  in  hot  cli- 
mates would  scarcely  be  habitable.  Some  Indian  towns 
have  no  other  scavengers  than  the  wild  beasts  which  lurk 
in  neighboring  jungles  during  the  day,  and  carry  away  all 
the  offal  of  the  place  in  nightly  razzias.  Every  body  has 
heard  of  the  snarling,  howling,  mangy  mongrels  of  Stam- 
boul  and  other  Eastern  towns,  which  range  through  the 
streets  at  night,  and  purify  the  tainted  air  by  snapping  up 
the  animal  refuse  of  the  town.  Further  to  the  south  the 
hyena  and  other  kindred  animals  prowl  round  the  lone 
African  village,  waiting  for  the  time  when  the  inhabitants 
shall  have  retired  to  rest,  in  order  that  they  may  venture 
within  the  precincts  and  feed  on  any  garbage  they  may 
find.  Judging  by  the  extent  of  the  machinery  employed 
and  the  imperious  instincts  with  which,  to  secure  perform- 
t  ance,  this  service  has  been  combined,  there  can  hardly 
be  any  more  important  work  within  the  circle  of  the 
world's  economy.  From  man  himself  downward  every 
class  of  animals  and  all  plants  take  their  appointed  share 
of  labor  in  keeping  Nature's  common  household  clean  and 
pure.     According  to  the   kind  of  work  to  be  done,  Provi- 


Beasts  and  Cattle.  297 

dence  appoints  with  unerring  wisdom  the  kind  of  work- 
man to  be  employed. 

With  all  her  boundless  variety  Nature  is  the  most  con- 
sistent of  artificers,  and  so  strict  is  the  relation  subsisting 
between  the  various  organs  of  the  body,  that  from  a  single 
tooth  or  other  bone  can  often  be  inferred  the  chief  points 
connected  with  the  habits  and  structure  of  the  animal  to 
which  it  belonged.  In  this  manner  Cuvier,  by  his  knowl- 
edge of  Comparative  Anatomy,  was  able  to  reconstruct 
with  approximative  accuracy  many  fossil  animals  of  which 
mere  fragments  only  had  been  preserved  in  the  strata  of 
the  rocks  ;  and  his  system  has  been  followed  up  with  suc- 
cess by  Professor  Owen  and  others.  Cuvier  tells  us  that 
there  is  an  extreme  pleasure  to  be  found  in  thus  tracing 
the  structural  harmonies  established  between  the  different 
parts  of  animals,  and  in  noting  how  one  organ  entails  an- 
other. "  None  of  these  parts  can  change  without  the 
whole  changing  ;  and  consequently  each  of  them,  sepa- 
rately considered,  points  out  and  marks  all  the  others." 

In  many  cases  animals  have  been  sent  into  the  world 
for  certain  obvious  purposes,  and  it  is  instructive  to  note 
the  perfect  way  in  which  they  are  fitted  for  their  task.  It 
is  the  highly  necessary  mission  of  the  Ant-eater  of  South 
America  to  keep  within  bounds  the  enormous  profusion  of 
that  form  of  life  by  destroying  myriads  of  ants  as  food.  It 
is,  in  the  first  place,  armed  with  strong  claws  to  tear  up 
the  houses  or  earth-galleries  in  which  the  ants  live.  Hav- 
ing disinterred  its  active  prey,  how  are  the  ants  to  be 
seized  ?  An  ordinary  mouth  would  be  of  little  use,  but 
Nature  has  provided  the  animal  with  a  prodigiously  long 
tongue,  which  it  smears  over  with  a  viscid,  adhesive 
mucus,  derived  from  enormously  developed  glands  sur- 
rounding the  throat,  and  it  then  thrusts  in  this  fatal  trap 
among  the  little  insects.  The  ants  adhere  in  thousands, 
and  are  thus  conveyed  into  the  mouth  with  marvelous 
rapidity.     The    next   point   is   that   the    ants    should   be 


298  Beasts  and  Cattle. 

crushed  ;  for  the  hard,  parchment-like  covering  in  which 
they  are  encased  offers  great  resistance  to  the  gastric 
juice.  The  mouth  is  ill  adapted  for  the  purpose  ;  for  it 
is,  in  fact,  little  else  than  a  tubular  case  for  the  long 
tongue.  In  the  next  place,  it  is  destitute  of  teeth  ;  and, 
indeed,  teeth  would  have  formed  far  too  powerful  a  mill 
for  such  tender  food,  while  many  of  the  active  little  creat- 
ures would  certainly  have  escaped  from  the  mouth  during 
mastication.  ,  The  crushing,  therefore,  goes  on  in  the 
stomach  •  and,  as  Owen  has  expressed  it,  the  Ant-eater 
has  borrowed  the  gizzard  of  a  fowl  for  the  purpose.  In 
this  muscular  stomach  or  gizzard,  therefore,  myriads  of 
ants  are  reduced  to  a  pulp,  out  of  which  their  arch-enemy 
extracts  abundant  nourishment.  How  clear  the  evidence 
of  the  special  design  with  which  claws,  tongue,  glands, 
mouth,  and  stomach  are  mutually  and  in  a  very  peculiar 
manner  adapted  to  each  other  ! 

A  whole  series  of  structural  adaptations  is  displayed  in 
the  Aye-aye,  a  quadrumanous,  or  four-handed,  animal 
found  in  Australia.  It  is  nocturnal  in  its  habits,  therefore 
the  pupil  of  the  eye  is  large  to  admit  as  much  light  to  the 
retina  as  possible.  The  organ  of  hearing  is  also  greatly 
developed,  for  the  purpose  of  enabling  it  to  detect  the 
scraping  operations  of  its  favorite  food,  which  is  a  kind 
of  grub  that  bores  and  burrows  in  trees.  Having  found 
the  spot  under  which  the  grub  is  at  work,  it  chisels  down 
upon  it  by  means  of  strong  jaws  and  teeth  specially  con- 
structed for  the  purpose.  But  no  sooner  does  the  grub 
find  its  dwelling  broken  into  than  it  retreats  to  the  other 
end  of  its  burrow ;  and  all  the  labor  of '  the  Aye-aye 
would  probably  have  been  in  vain,  had  not  Nature  antici- 
pated this  difficulty  by  bestowing  on  it  a  pecuiliar  and 
most  odd-looking  contrivance  in  the  shape  of  an  enor- 
mously prolonged  slender  middle  finger  having  a  hook  at 
the  end,  with  which  it  probes  into  the  recesses  of  the  bur- 
row and  extracts  the  impaled  grub. 


Beasts  and  Cattle.  299 

In  ancient  Bible  times  herds  and  flocks  constituted  the 
riches  of  the  wealthy.  Jabal  was  "  the  father  of  such  as 
dwell  in  tents  and  of  such  as  have  cattle."  A  great  herds- 
man was  equivalent  to  a  great  proprietor,  and  he  was 
qualified  for  the  highest  offices.  Abraham  and  Lot  pos- 
sessed much  wealth  of  this  kind,  and  they  separated  be- 
cause it  was  difficult  to  find  sufficienjt  pasture  for  their 
united  herds.  Moses  was  a  shepherd  after  his  flight  from 
Egypt,  while  he  tended  the  flocks  of  his  father-in-law, 
Jethro,  in  the  land  of  Midian ;  Amos,  the  prophet,  was  a 
herdsman.  Among  "  cattle  "  were  included  many  of  the 
beasts  useful'  to  man  for  feeding,  clothing,  and  other  pur- 
poses ;  in  this  group,  therefore,  were  to  be  found  oxen, 
sheep,  goats,  horses,  asses,  and  camels.  Hence  it  seems 
most  natural  that  the  Three  Children,  while  enumerating 
the  blessings  sent  from  above,  should  have  specially 
dwelt  on  this  "  good  gift." 

In  the  preceding  pages  we  have  endeavored  to  point 
out  a  few  illustrations  of  the  goodness  and  wisdom  with 
which  God  has  adapted  "  Cattle  and  Beasts  "  to  the  re- 
quirements of  that  sphere  in  creation  where  he  has  placed 
them,  but  we  have  done  little  more  than  open  up  the  sub- 
ject. It  is  one  which  grows  in  handling,  and  the  more  we 
look  the  more  thickly  illustrations  flow  in  upon  us.  With 
such  a  theme  it  is  difficult  to  know  where  to  begin,  and  it 
is  equally  difficult  to  know  where  to  leave  off*.  Every  ani- 
mal is  a  text  by  which  creative  wisdom  is  admirably  dis- 
played. 

The  Lord  is  my  shepherd ;  I  shall  not  want.  —  Ps.  xxiii. 


FOWLS    OF  THE  AIR. 


O  ye  Fowls  of  the  Air,  bless  ye  the  Lord ;  praise  Him,  and  mag' 
nify  Him  for  ever. 

T  may  be  truly  affirmed  that  Birds  are  not  sur- 
passed by  any  class  of  animals  in  the  illustrations 
they  afford  of  the  Power,  Wisdom,  and  Goodness 
of  the  Creator.  Their  shape  and  plumage  attract  our 
admiration.  Their  voices  fill  our  woods  in  spring  with 
sounds  of  cheerfulness  and  life.  The  grace,  boldness,  and 
endurance  of  their  flight  excite  astonishment ;  the  unerring 
certainty  with  which,  at  the  period  of  migration,  many  of 
them  traverse  seas  and  continents  exceeds  our  comprehen- 
sion ;  while  the  industry,  faithfulness,  and  devotion  dis- 
played by  them  in  the  construction  of  their  nests  and  the 
rearing  of  their  young  claim  for  them  our  sympathy  and 
protection. 

The  song  of  birds  has  evidently  the  closest  relation  to 
the  period  of  breeding,  and  common  sense  plainly  tells  us 
that  it  must  be  one  of  the  chief  attractions  between  the 
mated  pair.  The  mistress  of  the  future  nest  listens  com- 
placently to  the  notes  poured  forth  in  her  honor,  which,  in 
a  language  she  well  understands,  both  encourage  her  in 
her  preparations,  and  add  to  the  pleasure  with  which  she 
sets  about  them.  At  other  seasons  of  the  year,  unless 
incubation  be  going  on,  there  is  comparatively  little  sing- 
ing. It  has  answered  its  purpose,  and  the  presence  of  the 
loved  young  ones  in  the  nest  is  Nature's  guaranty  that 
the  parents  will  tenderly  bring  their  offspring  up,  and  send 
them  forth  into  the  world  when  they  are  ready  to  cope  with 
its  difficulties. 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  301 

The  importance  of  the  organ  of  voice  to  birds  may  be 
inferred  from  the  details  of  its  structure.     The  windpipe 
is   comparatively  wider  and   stronger  than  in   any  other 
class  of  animals.     In  man  and  other  mammalia  there  is  a 
single  organ,  or  larynx,  but  in  birds  it  is  double  ;  or  it 
maybe  considered   as  divided   into  two  parts,  one  being 
placed  at  the  top,  the  other  at  the  bottom  of  the  windpipe, 
or  trachea.     The  sound  is  produced  in  the  lower  larynx 
by  a  mechanism  which  is  generally  compared  to  the  reed 
in  a  clarionet,  and  it  is  subsequently  modified  in  passing 
through  the  upper  aperture  into  the  bill.    There  are,  more- 
over, dilatations  frequently  found  at  the  lower  larynx,  the 
air  in  winch  adds  to  the  sound  by  its  vibrations.    We  shall 
have  occasion  to  point  out  that  there  are  also   air-sacs 
abundantly  dispersed  over  the  body  with  which  the  organ 
of  voice    is   in   communication,  —  a  circumstance  which 
serves  to  explain  how  so  small  a  creature  as  a  bird  can 
pour  forth  its  loud  stream  of  song  uninterruptedly  for  so 
long  a  period.     From  these  reservoirs  it  can  supply  itself 
with  wind  for  its  instrument  of  voice,  in  the  same  way  as 
the  Scotch  "  pipes  "  are  supplied  with  air  from  the  "  bag," 
or  the  organ  from  the  bellows.     The  sound  thus  produced 
is  often  remarkable  for  intensity.    The  nightingale,  accord- 
ing to  Nuttall,  can  be  heard  farther  than  a  man,  while  the 
cries  of  storks  and  geese  are  said  to  be  four  times  more 
powerful  than  the  human  voice.     Flocks  of  these  birds 
may  be  heard  during  their  migratory  flight  from  an  altitude 
of  three  miles,  and  when  they  themselves  are   scarcely 
visible. 

Let  us  not  pass  on  without  a  tribute  to  the  skylark, 
which  sings  to  us  nearly  all  the  year  round.  When  other 
birds  leave  us,  he  never  forsakes  his  home  ;  when  others 
become  mute,  his  cheer}'  voice  may  still  be  heard.  Scarcely 
are  the  noise  and  dust  of  the  busy  city  left  behind  before 
he  salutes  us  with  his  song  ;  as  we  walk  onward  the 
gladsome  carol  is  caught  up  by  others  of  the  band  ;  and 


302  Fowls  of  the  Air. 

as  our  stroll  ends  it  still  lingers  in  our  ears.  Of  all  the 
feathered  songsters  he  is  the  most  constant  companion 
of  our  rambles,  and  ever  seems  as  ready  to  sing  as  we  are 
to  listen.  Poised  as  a  dark  speck  in  the  clear  air,  or  rising 
on  quivering  wings  above  his  nest,  his  song  gushes  out  as 
if  from  an  abounding  fountain.  Upward  —  upward  — 
higher  and  higher  !  until  at  length  the  songster  himself 
sometimes  vanishes  from  sight,  and  the  notes,  softened 
and  faintly  heard,  seem  to  come  out  of  the  depths  of  the 
firmament.  There  is  no  bird  we  could  not  sooner  spare, 
or  whose  absence  we  should  feel  so  much. 

The  singing  of  birds  may  be  considered  from  another 
point  of  view.  It  is  something  more  than  a  language  be- 
tween themselves,  for  it  is  likewise  a  contribution  toward 
the  pure  enjoyments  of  life.  To  thousands  it  brings  a 
pleasure  which,  though  small  perhaps  in  itself,  must  be 
added  to  the  list  of  the  little  enjoyments  scattered  abun- 
dantly around,  which  in  reality  make  up  so  much  of  the 
happiness  of  daily  life.  These  concerts  of  Nature's  choris- 
ters form  one  of  the  attractions  of  the  country  ;  but  even 
to  the  inhabitants  of  cities  birds  bring  much  pleasure,  if 
we  may  judge  by  the  number  of  feathered  songsters  ten- 
derly preserved  by  them.  In  reflecting  upon  such  things, 
do  we  not  find  that  their  value  consists  less  in  the  direct 
pleasure  they  bring  than  in  the  proof  they  afford  that  even 
in  little  things  "  He  careth  for  us  "  ? 

The  natural  history  of  birds  is  a  captivating  study,  and 
has  given  rise  to  some  of  the  most  delightful  volumes  in 
our  language.  The  limits  of  the  present  work,  however, 
forbid  us  to  do  more  than  briefly  point  out  a  few  of  those 
■structural  contrivances,  and  peculiarities  of  nature  and 
habits,  which  exhibit  to  us  in  the  most  striking  manner  the 
power  of  the  Great  Artificer. 

It  will  be  generally  admitted  that  no  animals  possess  a 
covering  which  in  beauty  is  comparable  to  the  plumage 
of  birds  ;  and  yet,  as  always  happens  where  Nature  is  the 


Fozvls  of  the  Air.  303 

artist,  this  beauty  has  not  been  purchased  at  the  cost  of 
any  useful  quality.  On  the  contrary,  what  lighter  clothing 
could  have  been  devised  for  creatures  whose  aerial  flights 
render  lightness  indispensable  ?  The  entire  plumage  of 
an  owl  weighs  only  an  ounce  and  a  half !  Or  what  cloth- 
ing could  be  warmer  than  the  feathered  quilt  in  which 
they  are  wrapped  ?  And  how  essential  a  warm  covering 
is  to  shield  them  from  the  heat-robbing  currents  of  air  and 
water  to  which  they  are  exposed  !  No  air  is  too  keen  for 
those  cold- defying  feathers,  nor  can  the  chill  even  of  polar 
seas,  where  so  many  pass  their  lives,  strike  through  this 
non-conducting  blanket.  To  make  the  clothing  perfect  it 
was  only  necessary  that  it  should  be  waterproof.  The 
other  qualities  of  the  plumage  would  be  useless  if  the  water 
could  penetrate  among  the  feathers,  and  convert  them  from 
a  dry,  impermeable  armor  into  a  sodden  mass  clinging  to 
the  skin.  Unable  to  resist  the  cold,  the  bird  would  then 
have  perished.  But  the  plumage  has  been  perfected  by 
giving  to  birds,  and  especially  to  water-fowl,  the  power  to 
secrete  an  oily  matter,  which  being  smeared  over  the 
feathers  renders  them  impervious  to  moisture.  All  must 
have  observed  that  when  a  bird  is  dead,  and  can  no  longer 
diffuse  this  oil  over  its  feathers,  the  water  soaks  in  and 
soon  spoils  the  plumage.  The  feathers  are  so  arranged 
over  the  body  of  the  bird  that  in  flying  or  swimming  the 
pressure  of  the  air  or  water  keeps  them  closely  applied  to 
the  skin,  so  as  to  offer  the  least  resistance  to  motion. 
Thus  may  we  with  admiration  perceive  how  perfect  in  all 
points  is  the  feathery  covering  of  birds  in  relation  to  the 
purposes  it  is  required  to  serve. 

The  wings  of  birds  exhibit  some  beautiful  proofs  of  cre- 
ative design.  In  rapid  flight  the  wings  beat  so  forcibly 
against  the  air,  that  it  is  obvious  that,  unless  the  feathers 
were  strongly  bound  together,  the  weaker  parts  would  give 
way,  and  allow  the  air  to  pass  through,  by  which  the  power 
of  flight  would  be  impaired.     But  this  danger  has  been 


304  Fowls  of  the  Air. 

obviated  by  furnishing  the  barbs  of  the  vane,  or  more 
pliant  part  of  the  feather,  with  what  are  called  "  barbules," 
forming  on  either  side  minute  hooks,  curved  in  contrary 
directions,  which  by  intercrossing  and  locking  with  each 
other  knit  the  feather  into  a  strong  compact  paddle,  so 
firm  in  most  birds  that  it  may  be  driven  without  yielding 
against  the  air,  with  a  force  that  often  produces  a  whistling 
sound.  It  is  a  further  proof  of  design  that  certain  birds, 
such  as  owls,  which  are  in  the  habit  of  stealing  slyly  upon 
their  victims,  do  not  possess  this  structure,  as  it  would  be 
attended  with  the  great  inconvenience  of  giving  their  prey 
notice  of  their  approach.  The  wings  of  owls  are  conse- 
quently loose  and  soft,  but  by  allowing  much  of  the  air  to 
pass  through  they  are  not  adapted  for  rapid  flight.  Hence 
the  slow,  noiseless,  almost  mysterious  gliding  of  these 
birds. 

Another  interesting  example  of  design  in  relation  to 
feathers  is  afforded  by  the  woodpecker.  When  this  bird 
is  at  work,  excavating  its  house  in  the  substance  of  some 
soft  tree,  or  hunting  for  food  in  the  crevices  of  the  loose 
bark,  it  supports  itself  upon  the  perpendicular  stem  by 
planting  its  claws  firmly  into  it,  and  then  using  its  tail  as  a 
sort  of  third  leg  to  lean  upon  behind.  It  thus  stands 
firmly  supported  as  it  were  upon  a  tripod.  But  as  feathers 
of  the  ordinary  kind  would  have  been  too  weak  for  this 
"  propping  "  service,  the  tail  of  the  woodpecker  is  made 
of  unusual  strength  and  thickness. 

The  prominence  of  the  keel  of  the  breast-bone,  with 
which  all  are  familiar  in  poultry,  gauges  the  size  of  the 
muscles  which  move  the  wings,  and  indicates  the  flying 
power  of  the  bird  itself.  In  those  whose  flight  is  rapid 
this  projection  is  large,  while  in  others  not  intended  to  fly 
the  keel  is  shallow  or  wanting,  and  the  pectoral  muscles 
small  in  proportion.  The  speed  of  birds  offers  great 
variety.  When  the  flight  does  not  exceed  30  miles  an 
hour,  they  are  considered  slow  flyers.     The  speed  of  the 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  305 

swallow  is  computed  at  90  miles,  the  hawk  150  miles,  while 
that  of  the  swift  is  said  to  attain  the  astounding  velocity 
of  180  miles  an  hour. 

The  endurance  displayed  by  birds  upon  the  wing  is 
wonderful,  and  many  instances  are  recorded  which  almost 
exceed  belief.  In  the  time  of  Henry  IV.  of  France  there 
was  a  falcon  which  became  famous  in  Europe  by  flying 
from  Fontainebleau  to  Malta,  1350  miles,  in  24  hours. 
But,  without  going  so  far  back,  we  may  on  a  summer's 
afternoon  watch  a  flock  of  swallows  for  an  hour  without 
detecting  the  briefest  interval  of  rest.  Their  skimming, 
busy,  rapid  wings  never  seem  to  tire.  What  strength  of 
flight,  too,  must  be  required  in  those  annual  migrations 
which  bring  our  winter  water-fowl  across  the  North  Sea 
from  frozen  Scandinavia,  and  our  summer  visitors,  the 
nightingales  and  swallows,  from  Southern  Europe  or 
Africa.  Longer  feats  of  flight  are  performed  by  some 
others,  such  as  the  Frigate  or  Man-of-war  bird,  which  is 
sometimes  found  hunting  for  food  in  the  Atlantic  more 
than  a  thousand  miles  from  shore.  Yet  it  never  seems  to 
tire,  or  to  seek  rest  either  on  the  surface  of  the  sea  or  in 
the  rigging  of  the  ship.  It  is  said  indeed  never  to  visit 
the  shore  from  choice,  but  only  when  the  return  of  the 
breeding  season  renders  a  short  sojourn  on  land  indis- 
pensable. 

Feathers  are  of  considerable  value  in  arts  and  manufac- 
tures. Since  the  seventh  century  nearly  the  whole  litera- 
ture of  Europe  has  been  written  by  means  of  quills,  though 
in  these  latter  days  all-pervading  iron  threatens  to  drive 
them  out  of  the  field.  When  feathers  are  alluded  to  in 
connection  with  dress,  they  are  usually  suggestive  of  the 
vanities  of  life,  but  they  have  other  uses  of  greater  impor- 
tance. Among  savages,  and  especially  among  the  Esqui- 
maux, warm  coverings  are  made  of  the  skins  of  wildfowl, 
the  feathers  being  turned  inward.  The  great  point  in 
warm  clothing  is  that  the  texture  shall  be  loose  enough  to 
20 


306  Fowls  of  the  Air. 

contain  sufficient  air  to  make  it  a  bad  conductor,  and  yet 
not  so  loose  as  to  permit  currents  of  cold  air  to  circulate 
through  it.  Now  it  is  found  that  the  feathered  skin  of  the 
Eider-duck  fulfills  these  requirements  in  a  very  perfect 
manner,  while  it  possesses  in  addition  the  valuable  quality 
of  lightness ;  hence  it  is  regarded  as  the  most  complete 
model  of  warm  clothing  in  existence. 

Birds  supply  the  civilized  world  with  the  luxury  of  soft 
beds  and  warm  coverlets  ;  and,  indeed,  there  are  few 
houses  above  the  line  of  poverty  which  are  not  indebted 
to  birds  for  some  of  their  comforts  and  attractions.  Goose 
feathers  are  the  most  esteemed  for  beds  on  account  of 
their  combined  softness  and  elasticity  ;  while  Eider-down 
is  best  adapted  for  coverlets,  because,  although  it  is  supe- 
rior in  softness,  it  is  less  elastic  and  does  not  bear  heavy 
pressure  so  well.  It  is  painful  to  think  how  cruelly  the 
geese  are  treated  from  which  we  obtain  our  supplies. 
Unfortunately  the  best  feathers  are  considered  to  be  those 
which  are  taken  from  the  living  bird,  and  for  this  reason 
the  poor  creature  has  in  many  districts  to  undergo  the  tor- 
ture of  partial  plucking  several  times  a  year.  The  Eider 
duck  parts  with  its  plumage  on  terms  which,  if  less  cruel, 
must  still  involve  much  suffering.  It  abounds  on  the  coast 
of  Norway,  and  in  various  parts  of  the  Baltic,  where  the 
feather  trade  employs  a  number  of  men  and  produces  a 
considerable  revenue.  In  preparing  her  nest  for  the  ex- 
pected brood,  the  mother  plucks  the  soft  down  from  her 
breast,  and  lines  her  habitation  with  it.  Soon  afterward 
the  hardy  "  fowler  "  appears  upon  the  scene,  suspended  by 
his  rope,  and  scrambling  along  the  face  of  the  cliff.  The 
eggs  are  taken  for  food,  and  the  feathers  for  commerce ; 
and  then  the  poor  bird,  after  doubtlessly  passing  through 
her  season  of  grief,  sets  to  work  to  repair  the  mischief  by 
plucking  off  another  supply  of  down,  and  laying  another 
set  of  eggs.  Once  more  the  spoiler  visits  the  nest,  and 
carries  off  as  before  the  eggs  and  the  down.     But  the  in- 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  307 

stinctive  courage  and  perseverance  with  which  Nature  has 
inspired  the  bird  are  equal  to  the  trial.  For  the  third  time 
she  fits  up  her  habitation  as  before  and  again  she  lays  her 
eggs.  But  now  the  sagacious  fowler  leaves  her  in  peace. 
He  knows  that,  in  making  this  final  effort  to  refit  the  nest, 
the  Eider-duck  and  her  mate  have  torn  the  last  shreds  of 
down  from  their  breasts,  and  that  were  he  again  to  rob  the 
nest,  the  brood  by  which  he  hopes  at  some  future  day  to 
profit  could  not  be  reared. 

The  weight  of  dead  birds  is  familiarly  known  to  every 
body.  There  is,  in  fact,  no  very  striking  difference  in  this 
respect  between  them  and  the  other  animals  that  live  upon 
the  ground,  and  it  is  obvious  that  mere  wing-flapping 
alone  would  be  insufficient  to  sustain  them  in  the  air,  were 
they  not  aided  by  other  means.  As  bones  are  the  heaviest 
of  the  structures  which  enter  into  the  composition  of  birds, 
it  might  naturally  be  expected  they  would  offer  the  chief 
impediment  to  flight ;  and  such  would  undoubtedly  have 
been  the  case,  had  not  Nature,  by  a  slight  deviation  from 
the  general  rule,  converted  what  would  have  been  a  draw- 
back into  a  source  of  assistance.  Animals  whose  move- 
ments are  on  the  rough  surface  of  the  ground,  require  to 
have  bones  of  great  strength  and  density  to  enable  them  to 
withstand  the  shocks  and  strains  to  which  they  are  liable ; 
but  birds,  whose  chief  movements  are  in  the  air,  do  not 
require  bones  of  such  solidity.  Nature,  therefore,  by 
forming  them  into  hollow  cylinders,  has  given  them  the 
shape  which  mechanically  combines  the  greatest  strength 
with  the  greatest  lightness  ;  and  after  every  particle  of 
superfluous  bony  matter  has  been  thus  removed,  the  in- 
terior of  the  bone  is  generally  filled  with  air  instead  of 
marrow,  by  which  the  weight  is  still  further  reduced. 

Not  only  does  air  pass  freely  into  the  bones  of  birds, 
often  down  to  the  ends  of  the  small  bones  composing  the 
toes,  the  tips  of  the  wings,  and  even  into  the  quills  of  the 
feathers,  but,  by  means  of  a  peculiar  system  of  air-cells  or 


308  Fowls  of  the  Air. 

receptacles,  it  is  diffused  all  over  the  body,  with  an  abun- 
dance which  corresponds  to  the  flight-power  of  the  bird. 
These  air-cells  are  in  free  communication  with  the  air-pas- 
sages of  the  lungs,  and  many  of  them  can  be  inflated  or 
emptied  at  will.  They  are  of  large  size  in  the  thorax  and 
abdomen  ;  occasionally  they  reach  high  up  in  the  neck, 
forming  as  it  were  a  balloon  in  front  of  the  body,  and  they 
are  generally  very  widely  distributed  under  the  skin.  1  n 
birds  distinguished  for  their  power  of  flight,  such  as  the 
Solan-goose,  Albatross,  and  Pelican,  the  air  not  only  fills 
the  bones  but  surrounds  the  viscera,  insinuates  itself  be- 
tween the  muscles,  and  buoys  up  the  entire  skin.  The 
whole  body  is  inflated  like  a  balloon. 

The  circumstance,  however,  which  chiefly  promotes 
buoyancy,  and  gives  to  this  remarkable  arrangement  its 
lifting  power,  is  the  comparatively  high  temperature  of  the 
included  air.  Birds  are  warmer  blooded  than  mamma- 
lians ;  thus  while  the  internal  temperature  of  man  sel- 
dom exceeds  9 8°  Fah.,  that  of  birds  varies  from  1060  to 
1120  Fah.  This  higher  temperature  is  an  indispensable 
requirement  of  their  great  muscular  energy  ;  and  it,  no 
doubt,  also  helps  to  counteract  that  tendency  to  cold  which 
necessarily  arises  from  their  rapid  movements  both  in  air 
and  water.  But  the  purpose  served  by  this  high  tempera- 
ture to  which  we  now  draw  attention  is  that  it  acts  as  a 
furnace  to  heat  the  air  within  the  bones  and  cells.  In  cir- 
culating round  the  walls  of  the  cavities  containing  air,  the 
blood  imparts  to  the  latter  a  portion  of  its  own  warmth, 
just  as  a  service  of  hot  water  pipes  heats  the  air  in  a  room 
round  which  it  is  carried.  The  heated  air,  of  course, 
renders  the  whole  bird  buoyant,  on  the  principle  of  a  fire 
balloon  or  caoutchouc  ball,  both  of  which  readily  rise  into 
the  air  on  being  warmed.  When  the  weight  of  the  bird 
has  thus  been  brought  more  or  less  into  equilibrium  with 
the  surrounding  air,  the  action  of  the  wings  easily  lifts  it 
from   the  ground.      How  completely  this    equilibrium  is 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  309 

sometimes  attained,  even  in  the  case  of  very  large  and 
heavy  birds,  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  the  gigan- 
tic Condor  of  the  Andes  is  occasionally  seen  wheeling  in 
circles  for  hours  together  without  the  aid  of  a  single  flap 
from  its  wings.  The  perfection  of  buoyancy  is  even  more 
wonderfully  displayed  by  the  Frigate  bird  of  the  Atlantic, 
which  is  said  not  only  to  rest  its  wings,  but  even  to  slum- 
ber as  it  floats  in  the  air  like  a  balloon. 

The  comparison  just  made  may  be  carried  a  step 
further.  If  an  opening  be  made  in  the  balloon  or  the 
caoutchouc  ball,  through  which  the  warm  air  can  escape, 
they  will  collapse  and  fall  to  the  ground.  And  in  like 
manner,  if  the  bone  of  a  bird  be  fractured,  or  an  opening 
be  made  into  it  at  a  place  that  is  favorable  for  the  escape 
of  the  air,  the  buoyancy  of  the  bird  is  destroyed  and  it 
tumbles  to  the  earth.  So  easy  is  the  communication  be- 
tween the  air-cavities  of  the  bones  and  the  lungs,  that 
when  the  windpipe  of  a  bird  is  closed,  respiration  can  still 
be  carried  on  for  a  short  period  through  a  broken  bone, 
which  serves  as  an  artificial  windjDipe  to  convey  the  air  to 
the  lungs. 

Many  birds,  instead  of  seeking  for  their  food  on  shore, 
skim  over  the  surface  of  the  sea,  and  dive  after  their  prey, 
or  even  pursue  it  under  the  water.  It  might  reasonably 
be  expected  that  the  inflation  of  the  body  with  air,  which 
has  just  been  described,  would  unfit  them  for  diving  and 
swimming  under  water,  exactly  in  proportion  as  it  pro- 
moted their  power  of  sustaining  themselves  in  the  atmos- 
phere. It  is  a  singular  fact,  however,  that  the  birds  most 
remarkable  for  flight  are  sometimes  no  less  distinguished 
for  the  ease  with  which  they  dive  and  glide  about  under 
water  !  The  Solan-goose,  for  example,  whose  usual 
haunts  in  this  country  are  the  lofty  heights  of  the  Bass 
Rock  and  Ailsa  Craig,  is  a  most  expert  diver,  as  is  proved 
by  its  being  sometimes  accidentally  caught  in  fishing  nets 
that  have  been  sunk  from  10  to  30  fathoms  under  water. 


310  Fowls  of  the  Air. 

How  happens   it,  we  might   reasonably  ask,  that  a  bird 
which  at  one  moment  is  soaring  buoyantly  in  the  light  air, 
can  at  the  next  be  diving  and  swimming  through  the  dense 
water  ?     It  is  obvious  that  some  rapid  adjustment  of  its 
weight,  or  specific  gravity,  must  take  place  in  order  to  en- 
able it  to  accomplish  such  a  feat.     This  is  achieved  by 
simply  giving  to  the  bird  the  power  of  emptying  more  or 
less  completely  many  of  its  principal  air-cells,  by  means  of 
muscles  variously  disposed  in  different  parts  of  the  body, 
which  in  contracting  squeeze  the  air  out  of  the  cells,  just 
as  water  is  squeezed  out  of  a  caoutchouc  bag  when  com- 
pressed in  the  hand.     In  this  employment  of  air-cells  to 
lessen  or  augment  the  specific  gravity  of  birds,  we  are  re- 
minded of  the  function  performed  by  the  swimming  blad- 
der of  fishes. 

In  regard  to  the  movement  of  birds  their  general  shape 
must  not  remain  unnoticed.  It  will  be  observed  that  they 
are  invariably  formed  like  a  wedge,  of  which  the  head  and 
beak  represent  the  apex.  It  is  easy  to  understand  how 
this  must  facilitate  their  progress  both  through  air  and 
water. 

The  beak  of  a  bird  is  to  be  regarded  not  merely  as  a 
mouth,  but  also  as  an  instrument  of  touch  and  prehension. 
In  shape  and  strength  it  differs  widely  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  work  it  is  intended  to  perform.  So  closely, 
indeed,  is  this  constructive  relation  observed,  that,  as 
Cuvier  pointed  out,  you  may  tell  from  the  beak  of  a  bird 
what  it  feeds  upon,  what  are  its  habits  of  life,  and  whether 
its  disposition  be  gentle  or  ferocious,  with  as  much  cer- 
tainty as  you  can  decide  the  same  question  in  regard  to  a 
quadruped,  whether  living  or  fossil,  by  the  examination  of 
its  jaw.  Some  bills  are  excellent  fly-traps,  gaping  widely 
and  sweeping  the  air  as  with  a  net  Others,  as  in  the 
snipe,  are  long  and  narrow,  that  they  may  probe  the  marshy 
ground,  and  they  are  supplied  with  nerves  in  order  that 
they  may  feel  the  food  which  is  often  hidden  from  their 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  311 

view.  Some  bills,  as  in  the  Flamingo,  are  veritable  scoops 
to  ladle  up  the  food  into  the  mouth.  Not  the  least  ad- 
mirable adaptation  is  to  be  found  in  the  common  duck, 
whose  bill  is  soft,  expanded,  and  sensitive,  while  the  mar- 
gins are  supplied  with  horny  transverse  plates  which  act  as 
a  strainer  to  separate  the  particles  of  food  from  the  turbid 
water  in  which  it  searches  for  them.  The  woodpecker's 
bill  is  a  finely  pointed  chisel  of  great  strength,  tipped  with 
horn  almost  as  hard  as  ivory,  to  enable  it  to  splinter  the 
decayed  bark  of  trees  while  hunting  for  insects,  or  to  ex- 
cavate the  substance  of  the  wood  itself  in  nest-building. 

Not  unfrequently  the  beak  serves  as  an  organ  of  locomo- 
tion. A  parrot,  for  example,  uses  it  in  climbing  as  dexter- 
ously as  in  cracking  a  nut  and  separating  the  kernel.  The 
anterior  extremities  being  appropriated  for  wings,  the  bill 
serves  as  a  kind  of  hand  with  which  birds  lift,  carry,  and 
build.  What  human  fingers  could  unhusk  the  seed  with 
the  nimble  dexterity  of  some  of  our  caged  birds  ?  There 
is,  it  is  true,  no  arm  to  wield  this  hand,  but  Nature  has 
made  the  neck  of  birds  long  and  flexible,  on  purpose  that 
it  might  act  as  an  arm  to  apply  this  "  bill-hand  "  wherever 
it  is  wanted. 

As  birds  usually  swallow  their  food  the  instant  it  is 
taken  into  the  mouth,  any  particular  development  of  the 
sense  of  taste  would  be  superfluous.  With  few  exceptions 
the  tongue  is  stiff,  cartilaginous,  or  even  horny.  In  hum- 
ming-birds and  woodpeckers  it  is  usually  thought  to  be  of 
great  length,  but  this  appearance  is  in  reality  due  to  a 
peculiar  structure  connected  with  the  hyoid  bone,  to  which 
the  tongue  may  be  regarded  as  attached  somewhat  as  a 
spear-head  is  fixed  to  the  end  of  the  shaft.  By  this  means 
the  tongue  may  be  darted  out  far  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
mouth.  In  the  humming-bird  the  tongue  consists  of  a 
pair  of  narrow  muscular  tubes,  resembling  the  double- 
barrel  of  a  gun,  and  it  divides  at  the  tip  into  two  spoon- 
like blades,  or  fringes,  with  which  the  bird  adroitly  seizes 


312  Fowls  of  the  Air. 

its  food.  In  the  woodpecker  the  tongue  is  a  veritable 
spear,  tipped  and  barbed  with  horn,  by  means  of  which  it 
transfixes  its  prey,  and  bears  it  securely  to  its  mouth. 

Birds  are  no  less  characteristically  distinguished  by  their 
power  of  vision  than  quadrupeds  are  by  the  sense  of  smell, 
and  man  by  the  sense  of  touch.  Nuttall  observes  that  a 
kite  soaring  beyond  human  ken  detects  a  small  bird  or  a 
mouse  upon  the  ground,  and  descends  upon  it  in  almost  a 
perpendicular  line.  The  clearness  of  their  vision  is  no 
less  wonderful  than  its  extent,  for  by  slightly  altering  the 
shape  of  the  eye  it  can  be  adjusted  to  distances  and  light, 
as  if  it  were  a  telescope. 

Many  birds  live  on  seeds  which,  being  protected  both 
by  their  vitality  and  their  dense  coverings,  must  be  broken 
up  before  the  gastric  juice  can  act  upon  them  with  effect. 
To  have  crushed  them  in  the  mouth  would  have  required 
grinders  fixed  in  heavy  jaws  moved  by  bulky  muscles  ;  and 
these,  in  their  turn,  would  have  entailed  the  necessity  for 
extensive  surfaces  of  bone  to  afford  attachments.  It  is 
obvious  that  such  an  apparatus  is  out  of  the  question  in 
birds,  because  it  involves  weights  which  are  incompatible 
with  flight.  But  the  difficulty  has  been  overcome  by  giv- 
ing them  a  triturating  machine,  so  admirably  contrived 
that  it  dispenses  with  the  use  of  teeth  altogether,  and 
forms  a  part  of  the  stomach  itself.  The  thin,  membrane- 
ous stomach  which  we  usually  see -in  most  animals  would 
have  wanted  the  requisite  crushing  power,  and,  therefore, 
it  here  takes  the  form  of  a  muscular  gizzard.  Yet,  even 
a  gizzard,  strong  though  it  be,  would  not  be  able  to  cope 
with  the  hard  texture  of  seeds,  but  for  certain  supplement- 
ary aids  which  perfect  the  action  of  the  machine.  Let  us 
observe  what  happens.  When  the  grains  are  picked  up 
they  are  first  received  into  "the  crop,"  where  they  aie 
moistened,  and  macerated,  and  kept  back  until  the  rest 
of  the  digestive  apparatus  is  at  liberty  to  attend  to  them. 
They  next  pass  into  the  "ventriculus  succenturiatus,"  or 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  313 

true  stomach,  where  they  are  exposed  to  the  solvent  action 
of  the  gastric  juice.  And,  lastly,  after  having  been  thus 
soaked  and  softened,  they  slip  on  into  the  gizzard,  where 
they  are  ground  into  a  pulp.  As  this  process  is  contin- 
ued, the  food  passes  onward,  and  the  nutritious  portion  is 
soon  absorbed. 

The  gizzard  is  truly  an  instrument  of  astonishing  power 
when  its  small  size  is  considered.  The  force  applying  the 
triturating  pressure  consists  of  strong  opposing  muscles, 
and  the  cavity  lying  between  them  is  lined  by  a  tendinous 
expansion  almost  as  hard  as  horn,  on  which  the  grain  is 
ground  as  in  a  mill.  There  is  a  kind  of  petrel  found  far 
to  the  north,  in  which  the  cavity  is  inlaid  with  a  hard  tu- 
berculous pavement,  forming  no  inapt  representation  of 
the  rough  surface  of  a  millstone.  The  gizzard  of  some 
mollusk-feeding  birds,  as  ducks,  is  strong  enough  to  crunch 
up  shells  with  ease.  In  experiments  on  turkeys  and  com- 
mon fowls,  in  which  they  were  forced  to  swallow  sharp, 
angular  fragments  of  glass,  metallic  tubes,  and  balls 
armed  with  needles,  and  even  lancets,  all  these  sub- 
stances were  found  to  be  broken  or  compressed  by  the 
powerful  action  of  the  gizzard,  without  having  produced 
any  wounds,  or  apparently  even  any  pain.  The  chief  bulk 
of  the  gizzard  being  made  up  of  the  muscular  walls,  the 
cavity  is  necessarily  small,  and  only  a  little  can  be  taken 
in  at  one  time  ;  hence  the  presence  of  a  gizzard  requires 
the  aid  of  the  other  receptacles  just  described,  to  act  as 
"  hoppers,"  and  by  their  special  vital  tact  furnish  a  gradual 
supply.  Graminivorous  birds  habitually  swallow  sand  or 
pebbles  to  facilitate  the  grinding  operation  of  the  gizzard ; 
and  if  the  ear  be  applied  to  the  side  of  a  fowl  while  the 
gizzard-mill  is  at  work,  the  sound  of  the  "  stones  "  rub- 
bins:  against  each  other  is  often  to  be  heard.  In  a  certain 
sense  the  gravel  may  be  said  to  act  as  teeth  to  pierce  and 
lacerate  the  food  in  the  stomach,  and  it  has  been  remarked 
that  fowls  grow  thin  when  it  is  rigidly  excluded  from  their 


314  Fowls  of  the  Air. 

diet.  They  are,  as  it  were,  suffering  from  the  loss  of  their 
teeth. 

Although  true  crops  are  seldom  found  except  in  grami- 
nivorous birds,  it  is  often  desirable  that  there  should  be  a 
receptacle  in  which  food  may  be  temporarily  stored,  either 
because  the  supply  is  precarious,  or  in  order  to  facilitate 
its  transport  to  the  nest.  In  the  pelican,  the  skin  under 
the  lower  jaw  forms  a  capacious  expansile  bag,  in  which 
fishes  and  other  food  may  be  carried  to  the  young  ones. 
Our  favorite,  the  Swift,  has  also  a  jaw-pouch  in  which  it 
deposits  its  insect  prey  until  it  is  convenient  to  hand  it 
over  to  the  eager  mouths  in  the  nest.  It  is  a  curious  cir- 
cumstance that  this  pouch  is  found  only  in  the  breeding 
season,  and  then  only  in  birds  old  enough  to  have  a  home 
and  a  family  to  provide  for.  So  minutely  are  details  at- 
tended to  by  Nature.  But  when  we  think  how  busily 
these  birds  feed  their  young  throughout  the  day,  we  may 
form  some  idea  of  the  time  and  trouble  saved  by  means 
of  this  game-bag.  In  other  cases  the  gullet  is  expanded 
into  a  receptacle,  as  in  the  vulture,  which  is  thus  enabled 
to  lay  in  a  stock  of  carrion,  both  for  itself  and  its  young, 
as  opportunity  offers.  A  similar  arrangement  exists  in 
certain  waders  and  swimmers.  Bishop  Stanley  says  that 
"  in  watching  cormorants  at  a  distance  through  a  tele- 
scope, they  may  be  sometimes  seen  quietly  reposing  with 
their  mouths  half-open  and  the  tail  of  a  fish  hanging  out, 
the  remainder  gorged  in  their  capacious  gullet ;  and  sea- 
gulls will  swallow  bones  of  three  or  four  inches  in  length, 
the  lower  end  only  reaching  their  stomach,  while  the  rest 
continues  in  the  gullet,  and  slips  down  gradually  in  propor- 
tion as  the  lower  ends  are  consumed." 

There  are  some  wildfowl  whose  whole  substance  is,  as 
it  were,  infiltrated  with  oil.  It  makes  them  buoyant  on 
the  water,  and,  like  a  blanket  wrapped  round  the  various 
organs,  serves  to  retain  the  animal  heat.  It  is  also  a  store 
of  fuel,  to  be  drawn  upon  in  times  of  scarcity  for  combus- 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  315 

tion  in  the  lungs.  The  oil,  moreover,  sometimes  forms  a 
welcome  addition  to  the  "  lighting  "  resources  of  commu- 
nities placed  far  out  of  the  way  of  gas  and  candles.  Thus 
the  hardy  inhabitants  of  St.  Kilda,  a  solitary  island  in  the 
Atlantic,  lying  about  fifty  miles  west  of  the  Hebrides,  are 
in  the  habit  of  levying  on  the  Fulmar  petrels  frequenting 
the  rocks  an  oil-tax,  which  is  collected  by  making  them  dis- 
gorge a  quantity  of  "  pure  oil  "  by  means  of  the  skillful  ap- 
plication of  pressure. 

The  number  of  the  different  kinds  of  birds  known  to  ex- 
ist is  four  times  greater  than  that  of  quadrupeds  ;  but  it  is 
the  multitude  of  individuals  that  most  astonishes  us.  They 
immeasurably  exceed  both -mammalia  and  reptiles,  and  we 
must  descend  to  fishes  before  we  find  tribes  comparable  to 
them  in  this  respect.  Strolling  on  the  sea-shore  of  the  Isle 
of  Wight  on  an  October  afternoon,  we  have  seen  swallows 
flocking  away  to  their  winter  homes  in  numbers  that  seemed 
countless,  and  in  a  broad  stream  which  required  ten  min- 
utes to  pass  by.  Illustrations  of  the  astounding  multitudes 
of  birds  are  to  be  found  in  every  book  on  Ornithology,  but 
we  will  here  only  refer  to  one  given  by  Audubon.  Among 
the  Rocky  Mountains  flocks  of  migrating  pigeons  are  often 
seen  moving  in  a  stream  more  than  a  mile  broad,  and 
although  their  speed  probably  exceeds  a  mile  in  a  minute, 
three  hours  are  sometimes  spent  before  the  long  proces- 
sion has  ended.  At  the  moderate  estimate  of  two  pigeons 
to  each  square  yard,  Audubon  calculates  the  number  in 
one  such  flock  to  be  one  billion  one  hundred  and  fifteen 
millions. 

Such  dense  clouding  of  the  air  with  birds  leads  the 
mind  back  to  a  scene  that  occurred  in  the  wilderness,  near 
Mount  Sinai,  more  than  three  thousand  three  hundred 
years  ago.  We  read  in  the  sixteenth  chapter  of  Exodus 
that  the  Israelites,  dispirited  and  mistrustful,  bitterly  up- 
braided Moses  for  having  led  them  so  far  away  from 
Egyptian  plenty  to  perish  miserably  in  the  desert :  "  Ye 


316  Fowls  of  the  Air. 

have  brought  us  forth  into  this  wilderness  to  kill  the 
whole  assembly  with  hunger."  But  the  Israelites  were 
rescued  in  their  need,  and  the  King  of  Nature  fed  them 
with  quails  and  manna.  "And  it  came  to  pass  that  at 
even  the  quails  came  up  and  covered  the  camp." 

In  the  eleventh  chapter  of  Numbers  we  read  that  on 
another  occasion  quails  were  sent  in  even  greater  abun- 
dance, —  but  sent  this  time  in  wrath  to  punish  the  murmur- 
ing Israelites.     They  had  become  discontented  with  the 
manna  miraculously  provided  for  them,  and  longed  for  the 
flesh  and  fish,  and  other  good  things  to  which  they  had 
been  accustomed  in  Egypt.    So  the  anger  of  the  Lord  was 
kindled,  and  He  made  the  granting  of  their   desire  the 
means  of  their  punishment:    "And   there  went   forth   a 
wind  from  the  Lord,  and  brought  quails  from  the  sea,  and 
let  them  fall  by  the  camp."     For  a  day's  journey  round 
the  ground  was  covered  with  birds  in  heaps  :  "  And  the 
people  stood  up  all  that  day,  and  all  that  night,  and  all 
the  next  day,  and  they  gathered  the  quails."     "  And  while 
the  flesh  was  yet  between  their  teeth,  ere  it  was  chewed, 
the  wrath  of  the  Lord  was   kindled  against  the  people, 
and  the  Lord  smote  the  people  with  a  very  great  plague." 
Yet  this  was  the  same  kind  of  food  which  had  before  pre- 
served  them  in    the  wilderness    of  Sinai.     It   had   been 
eagerly  desired,  and  had  been  granted  abundantly;  one 
thing,  however,  it  lacked,  without  which  neither  food  nor 
any  other  gift  can  profit  —  it  lacked  God's  blessing.     De- 
prived of  that  the  seeming  good  became  evil,  and  instead 
of  bringing   health    and   strength,  it  brought  the   deadly 
plague. 

There  is  no  denying  that  birds  necessarily  consume 
some  of  the  fruits  of  the  earth ;  but,  on  the  whole,  they 
well  repay  the  tax  thus  levied,  both  by  feeding  on  the 
seeds  of  weeds,  and  by  the  havoc  they  make  among  crop- 
destroying  grubs  and  insects.  The  truth  of  this  is  suffi- 
:iently  proved  by  the  fact  that,  wherever  crusades  have 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  317 

been  made  for  the  extirpation  of  birds,  success  has  inva- 
riably been  followed  by  repentance.  A  few  years  ago 
sparrow-clubs  for  the  indiscriminate  slaughter  of  our  fa- 
miliar companions  —  the  only  birds  that  follow  us  into 
towns  —  came  into  fashion  in  some  English  counties,  but 
enlarged  experience  and  observation  have  sufficed  to  put 
them  down.  The  last  phase  of  the  bird-crusade  has  been 
a  fierce  attack -on  rooks.  While  the  balance  of  the  argu- 
ment is  decidedly  in  favor  of  their  protection,  it  must, 
nevertheless,  be  conceded  that  it  is  possible  to  have  too 
much  even  of  a  good  thing.  On  the  one  hand,  the  farmer 
may  justly  consider  rooks  as  a  natural  police  to  keep 
within  moderate  limits  some  of  the  worst  pests  of  the 
field ;  but,  on  the  other,  the  force  must  be  maintained 
with  due  relation  to  the  work  that  is  to  be  done.  If  the 
hands  —  or  bills  —  be  too  few,  grubs  and  other  insect-ver- 
min will  increase  destructively  ;  but  if  the  rooks  be  too 
numerous,  the  supply  of  grubs  will  be  insufficient  for  the 
demand,  and  they  will  be  driven  to  support  themselves  on 
other  kinds  of  food.  The  wise  course,  therefore,  is  to 
keep  them  within  proper  limits,  and  then  they  will  seldom 
be  found  feeding  at  the  farmer's  expense. 

Nothing  more  conclusively  demonstrates  the  bad  policy, 
no  less  than  the  cruelty,  of  destroying  little  birds,  than 
the  experiment  recently  made  by  our  neighbors  in  France. 
Until  a  short  time  ago  small  birds  were  absolutely  without 
protection,  and  as  every  thing  that  flies  is  there  apt  to  be 
accounted  game,  they  were  shot,  trapped,  and  netted,  until 
at  length  they  were  nearly  extirpated.  In  many  parts  of 
France  the  silence  that  oppresses  the  woods  and  shrub- 
beries in  spring  is  melancholy.  But  by  slow  degrees  farm- 
ers discovered  that  in  killing  little  birds  they  had  lost  a 
willing  band  of  active  servants,  whose  absence  from  the 
field  was  marked  by  the  rapid  increase  of  insect-vermin  ; 
and  they  are  now  anxiously  endeavoring  to  repair  the  evil 
that  has  been  done  by  protecting  birds  by  every  means  in 


0 


1 8  Fowls  of  the  Air, 

their  power.  There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  all  birds 
have  been  created  by  Providence  to  perform  some  useful 
part  in  the  economy  of  Nature ;  and  that,  while  it  is  often 
expedient  to  keep  their  numbers  in  check,  extirpation  al- 
most invariably  turns  out  to  be  an  act  of  folly. 

It  is  not  without  interest  to  remark  that  in  the  Jewish 
Law  promulgated  by  Moses  nearly  1500  years  before  the 
Christian  era,  a  law  with  which  the  Three  Children  were 
doubtless  familiar,  the  case  of  the  poor  bird  had  been 
carefully  considered,  and  some  degree  of  protection  legally 
afforded  to  it.  In  the  twenty-second  chapter  of  Deuteron- 
omy it  is  enjoined  :  "  If  a  bird's-nest  chance  to  be  before 
thee  in  the  way  in  any  tree,  or  on  the  ground,  whether 
they  be  young  ones  or  eggs,  and  the  clam  sitting  upon  the 
young  or  upon  the  eggs,  thou  shalt  not  take  the  dam  with 
the  young  ;  but  thou  shalt  in  any  wise  let  the  dam  go." 
The  restriction  doubtless  referred  to  the  allowable  appro- 
priation of  the  contents  of  the  nest  for  the  sake  of  food ; 
but  it  evinces  the  same  spirit  of  kindness  to  the  lower  an- 
imals generally  by  which  the  enactments  of  Moses  were 
distinguished. 

It  would  be  easy  to  fill  a  volume  with  stories  about  the 
affectionate  ways  of  birds,  but'it  is  impossible  adequately 
to  portray  them  in  a  few  paragraphs.  The  genuine,  un- 
selfish, almost  self -immolating  tenderness  they  display 
toward  their  young  is  proverbial,  while  the  contemplation 
of  it  always  affords  to  hearts  open  to  such  influences  a 
large  amount  of  pleasure. 

The  very  names  of  some  birds  are  a  testimony  to  their 
gentle  nature ;  thus  the  word  "  Stork  "  both  in  Hebrew, 
Greek,  and  English  expresses  affection  and  kindness.  It 
has  been  said  that  the  young  retain  their  love  for  their 
parents  long  after  the  usual  nest-ties  have  been  dissolved, 
and  even  cherish  and  feed  them  when  they  have  become 
helpless  through  old  age.  What  truth  there  may  be  in  this 
popular  tradition  need  not  here  be  discussed,  but  every 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  319 

body  must  at  least  wish  that  so  pleasing  a  trait  of  bird- 
nature  should  be  true.  It  can  excite  no  surprise  that  creat- 
ures about  which  such  things  are  said  should  be  favorites 
all  over  the  East,  and  indeed  in  every  country  where  they 
are  found.  Among  Mohammedans  more  especially  the 
stork  is  a  welcome  visitor,  and  is  privileged  to  build  its 
nest  in  whatever  spot  it  may  choose  to  select.  Its  habita- 
tion is  held  sacred,  nor  does  it  fail  to  show  by  its  tameness 
that  it  understands  the  friendly  footing  on  which  it  has 
been  placed.  It,  moreover,  repays  the  consideration  it  re- 
ceives by  waging  incessant  war  against  snakes  and  various 
other  kinds  of  vermin  ;  and  by  thus  checking  their  undue 
increase,  it  fulfills  its  part  in  the  appointed  business  of  the 
world. 

In  Holland  the  stork  is  held  in  such  reverence  that  it 
is  protected  by  law.  All  travelers  in  that  part  of  the 
world  must  have  observed  its  grave,  statue-like  figure 
perched  on  roof  or  gable.  There  was  a  certain  stork 
whose  fame  has  spread  far  beyond  its  native  Holland,  as 
an  example  of  devotedness  to  its  offspring.  It  had  taken 
up  its  quarters  in  Delft,  and  had  the  misfortune  to  build 
its  nest  on  a  house  which  was  subsequently  burnt  down 
during  a  fearful  conflagration.  As  the  fire  raged  round  the 
nest,  the  poor  stork  was  seen  anxiously  yet  vainly  endeav- 
oring with  her  wings  to  protect  her  young.  Nearer  and 
nearer  swept  the  flames,  the  thatch  crackled  and  blazed, 
but  the  faithful  mother  would  not  desert  her  post,  and  per- 
ished with  her  young  ones. 

The  Pelican,  so  associated  in  our  minds  with  Holy  Writ 
and  Eastern  story,  abounds  in  Palestine  and  in  the  wilder- 
ness spreading  beyond  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates.  This 
is  another  bird  whose  affection  for  its  young  has  become 
classical.  It  is  a  most  dexterous  fisher,  catching  up  with 
sure  aim  its  finny  prey,  which  it  deposits  for  a  time  in  the 
mouth-bag,  formed  by  the  dilatable  skin  under  the  lower 
mandible,  until  it  can  be  conveniently  conveyed  to  the  nest. 


320  Fowls  of  the  Air. 

Tradition  long  would  have  it  that  the  affection  of  the  peli- 
can for  its  young  induced  it  in  periods  of  scarcity  to  lac- 
erate its  breast  in  order  to  feed  them  with  the  blood. 
Later  observations,  however,  have  shown  this  to  be  an 
error,  arising  from  the  habit  which  the  bird  has  of  pressing 
the  mouth-pouch  against  its  breast  for  the  purpose  of 
emptying  its  occasionally  red-tinged  contents  into  the 
nest.  The  pouch  itself  is  an  example  of  the  considerate 
contrivance  of  Nature,  by  which  she  facilitates  the  trans- 
port of  food-supplies  to  the  young  brood. 

The  examples  we  have  cited  are,  so  to  speak,  classical 
and  historical,  and  they  are  so  beautiful  and  characteristic 
that  they  never  fail  to  be  read  with  interest.  But  the  ex- 
perience of  almost  every  body  can  recall  instances  which 
illustrate  the  affectionate  ways  of  birds  toward  their 
young  with  equal  truth,  and,  perhaps,  with  even  greatei 
force,  since  they  have  happened  within  his  own  knowledge. 
Who  does  not  recognize  the  expressive  cries  of  birds  when 
their  fears  are  excited  by  danger  threatening  their  young  ? 
How  fiercely  the  shy  blackbird  menaces  and  almost  as- 
sails the  prowling  cat  which  an  evil  chance  has  brought 
too  near  her  dwelling !  With  what  cunning  sagacity  the 
lapwing,  the  wood-pigeon,  the  *  partridge,  and  a  host  of 
others,  imitate  the  struggles  of  a  wounded  bird,  in  order 
to  decoy  the  sportsman  from  the  nest  where  the  young 
ones  lie  hidden.  And  the  fidelity  with  which  in  the  midst 
of  their  terror  most  birds  cleave  to  their  young  in  the  nest, 
up  to  the  very  moment  when  the  hand  is  about  to  seize 
them,  is  a  spectacle  of  devotedness  which  none  can  have 
witnessed  without  interest. 

The  tenderness  of  birds  is  not  limited  to  their  young, 
but  is  often  lavished  upon  their  mates  also.  Let  us  not 
forget  that  faithfulness  in  union  is  nowhere  more  conspic- 
uous than  in  those  birds  that  are  notorious  for  fierceness 
and  rapacity,  as  eagles  and  hawks.  Ravens  and  crows 
generally  pair  for  life.     The  dove,  known  in  Scripture  as 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  321 

the  emblem  of  innocence  and  of  the  calm  happiness  it  im- 
parts, is  also  distinguished  in  this  respect.  The  pigeon 
devotes  her  life  to  one  companion,  and  the  union  is  only 
dissolved  by  death.  When  bereaved  she  mourns  her  loss, 
and  long  refuses  to  accept  another  mate.  "  The  black 
pigeon  of  the  East,  when  her  mate  dies,  obstinately  rejects 
all  others,  and  continues  in  a  widowed  state  for  life." 
Among  thousands  of  examples  few  are,  perhaps,  more 
touching  than  one  given  in  a  note  to  White's  "  Selborne." 
"  Lord  Kaimes  relates  a  circumstance  of  the  canary  which 
fell  dead  in  singing  to  his  mate  while  in  the  act  of  incuba- 
tion. The  female  quitted  her  nest,  and  finding  him  dead, 
rejected  all  food  and  died  by  his  side." 

The  affection  of  birds  is  frequently  extended  to  their 
old  haunts,  and  they  cling  with  constancy  to  the  place 
whei'e  they  were  born.  Nightingales,  swallows,  and  many 
others  find  their  way  back  to  the  spot  where  their  early 
days  were  spent,  and  often  to  the  very  nest-homes  with 
which  their  joys  are  associated.  Every  body  knows  with 
what  fidelity  rooks  cleave  to  their  native  trees,  and  how 
doggedly  they  resist  every  effort  to  dislodge  them.  With 
all  the  trees  of  the  country  open  to  their  choice,  rooks 
sometimes  strangely  prefer  a  nest  in  a  solitary  tree  in 
some  great  city,  because  it  is  the  home  where  they  were 
born.  For  eight  months  of  the  year  not  a  bird,  perhaps, 
except  the  universal  sparrow,  is  to  be  seen  there  ;  but 
with  commencing  spring  the  constant  rooks,  winging  their 
way  over  streets  and  houses,  once  more  appear,  and  set 
about  patching  up  the  old  nest. 

It  is  remarked  in  White's  "  Selborne,"  a  rich  quarry  in 
all  that  relates  to  the  habits  of  birds,  that  "  even  great 
disparity  of  size  and  kind  does  not  always  prevent  social 
advances  and  mutual  fellowship.  For  a  very  intelligent 
and  observant  person  has  assured  me,  that,  in  the  former 
part  of  his  life,  keeping  but  one  horse,  he  happened  also 
on  a  time  to  have  but  one  solitary  hen.  These  two  incon- 
21 


322  Fowls  of  the  Aii'. 

gruous  animals  spent  much  of  their  time  together  in  a 
lonely  orchard,  where  they  saw  no  creature  but  each  other. 
By  degrees  an  apparent  regard  begun  to  take  place  be- 
tween these  two  sequestered  individuals.  The  fowl  would 
approach  the  quadruped  with  notes  of  complacency,  rub- 
bing herself  gently  against  his  legs,  while  the  horse  would 
look  down  with  satisfaction,  and  move  with  the  greatest 
caution  and  circumspection,  lest  he  should  trample  on  his 
diminutive  companion.  Thus  by  mutual  good  offices  each 
seemed  to  console  the  vacant  hours  of  the  other." 

Many  who  turn  with  interest  and  sympathy  toward 
them  complain  that  birds  do  not  know-  how  to  recipro- 
cate their  affection.  But  this  accusation  appears  to  be 
disproved  by  facts.  The  means  which  birds  have  of  ex- 
pressing their  liking  toward  us  are,  of  course,  very  limited, 
and  are  often  obscured  by  that  natural  distrust  bestowed 
on  them  for  their  preservation.  Still  if  any  one  will  ex- 
pend a  little  time  and  patience  in  trying  to  win  their 
regard,  it  is  wonderful  how  much  may  be  accomplished. 
Caged  birds  often  become  very  tame.  They  droop  and 
pine  in  our  absence ;  they  revive,  know  us,  and  welcome 
us  with  a  flutter  of  excitement  when  we  return.  They 
feed  from  our  hands,  respond  by  sympathetic  movements 
or  cries  to  the  sound  of  our  voice,  and  show  confidence 
and  affection  in  a  thousand  pretty  ways.  On  the  lawn  or 
about  the  shrubbery  we  may  soon  collect  round  us  troops 
of  feathered  friends.  They  will  come  when  we  call  them, 
or  sing  when  we  whistle  to  them  ;  in  many  cases  they  will 
pop  clown  within  notice  the  instant  we  appear  in  the  gar- 
den, as  if  they  had  been  on  the  outlook  for  our  arrival. 
A  bright-eyed  robin  will  attend  us  on  a  short  winter's 
walk  almost  as  faithfully  as  a  clog.  Instead  of  not  recip- 
rocating attention,  many  birds  seem  only  waiting  to  be 
made  friends.  If  thoughtless  little  boys  could  be  induced 
to  try,  they  would  soon  find  out  that  there  is  more  enjoy- 
ment to   be  got  by   making   friends   with  birds  than   by 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  323 

frightening  them,  or  throwing  stones  at  them,  or  robbing 
their  nests.  When  once  they  have  realized  this  pleasure, 
and  begin  to  understand  the  feathered  tribes,  they  will 
regard  all  marks  of  confidence  shown  toward  them  by 
birds  as  so  many  claims  upon  theii  sympathy  and  pro- 
tection. 

Singular  stories  are  told  of  the  fancies  which  birds  have 
sometimes  taken  to  particular  individuals  ;  we  shall  here 
give  two  examples,  all  the  more  readily  because  they  bring 
to  favorable  notice  certain  familiar  inmates  of  the  farm 
whose  mental  powers  are  generally  underrated.  Bishop 
Stanley  in  his  delightful  book  tells  us  of  a  goose  which 
used  to  follow  a  citizen  of  Elgin  about  the  streets  with  as 
much  fidelity  as  a  clog.  When  visits  were  made  to  neigh- 
bors' houses,  it  waited  patiently  outside,  and  joyfully  re- 
joined its  master  on  his  reappearance.  No  change  of 
dress  for  a  moment  deceived  its  keen  affection.  It  liked 
to  hear  his  voice,  and  responded  by  its  own  peculiar  cries 
of  satisfaction. 

The  Bishop  also  relates  the  story  of  an  aged  woman,  in 
Germany,  who  was  habitually  led  to  church  by  a  saga- 
cious old  gander.  Her  attendant  laid  hold  of  her  dress 
with  its  beak,  and  gently  tugged  her  onward.  Having 
seen  her  fairly  seated  in  her  pew,  the  wise  bird  decorously 
withdrew  to  the  church-yard,  where  it  enjoyed  a  well- 
earned  repast  until  service  was  finished,  when  it  recon- 
ducted its  charge  home.  The  family  regarded  it  as  the 
safest  of  escorts,  and  were  accustomed  to  declare  that 
they  felt  no  anxiety  on  the  old  lady's  account  "  so  long  as 
they  knew  that  the  gander  was  with  her." 

We  all  desire  to  think  well  of  the  cuckoo.  The  day  on 
which  it  is  first  heard  in  spring  is  a  marked  event  in  coun- 
try life,  and  we  listen  to  the  soft,  mellow  notes  as  a  sure 
call  toward  the  coming  pleasures  of  the  summer.  Yet  the 
character  of  our  favorite  is  generally  believed  to  break 
down  upon  a  point  on  which  it  is  thought  that  bird-nature 


324  Fowls  of  the  Air. 

is  strongest,  namely,  in  maternal  affection.  It  certainly  is 
proved,  on  evidence  which  cannot  be  disputed,  that  the 
cuckoo,  instead  of  taking  the  trouble  of  building  a  nest  foi 
herself,  stealthily  drops  her  egg  in  the  nests  of  other  birds, 
and  then  leaves  it  to  its  fate.  Such  a  habit  seems  a  libel 
on  Nature  herself;  but,  instead  of  at  once  accepting  the 
inference  that  seems  to  follow  from  it,  we  shall  act  wisely 
if  we  suspend  our  judgment  for  a  moment,  in  the  convic- 
tion that  Nature  would  not  thus  strangely  depart  from  her 
usual  kind  ways  without  some  good  and  sufficient  reason. 
Let  us  first  consider  what  the  facts  against  the  accused 
really  are,  and  then  let  us  see  what  may  be  said  for  the 
defense. 

It  appears  that  this  strange  deception  is  practiced  upon 
a  variety  of  unsuspecting  little  birds.  Yarrell  gives  a  list 
of  fourteen,  among  which  are  to  be  found  the  robin  and 
blackbird,  the  skylark  and  the  hedge-sparrow.  The  cuckoo 
chooses  her  time  with  great  adroitness,  generally  after  one 
or  two  eggs  have  been  laid  in  the  nest ;  and  as  the  plot  is 
favored  by  an  unaccountable  obtuseness  on  the  part  of  the 
intended  foster-mother,  it  never  fails  of  success.  The  con- 
duct of  the  young  cuckoo  by  and  by  only  makes  the  matter 
worse.  Although  the  title  of  'the  other  occupants  of  the 
nest  is  so  much  better  than  its  own,  scarcely  have  a  few 
hours  elapsed  after  its  birth  before  it  begins  to  take  forci- 
ble measures  to  secure  the  whole  nest  to  itself,  and  mo- 
nopolize all  the  little  bird's  feeding  attentions.  Dexterously 
insinuating  its  head  and  shoulders  under  any  unhatched 
eggs  that  may  still  remain,  or  under  the  bodies  of  its 
foster-nestlings,  it  raises  them  up  on  its  back,  and  ruth- 
lessly pitches  them  overboard.  Let  us  now  see  what  can 
be  said  in  excuse  for  this  apparently  bad  case.  How  a 
hedge-spartow  or  any  other  bird  can  be  so  stupid  as  not 
to  perceive  the  gross  fraud  thus  practiced  on  its  maternal 
tenderness,  is  difficu't  to  explain  upon  any  other  principle 
than  that,  throughout  the  whole  affair,  Nature  herself  has 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  325 

been  in  league  with  the  deceiver.  First,  it  may  be  re- 
marked that  the  cuckoo's  egg  is  singularly  small  in  pro- 
portion to  the  size  of  the  bird.  It  is  no  bigger  than  that 
of  the  skylark,  although  the  cuckoo  is  four  times  as  large. 
In  regard  to  size,  therefore,  the  egg  may  pass  muster  in  a 
small  bird's  nest.  Secondly,  it  is  observed  that  the  newly 
born  cuckoo  has  a  peculiarity  in  its  back,  which  is  pro- 
portionally broader  than  in  other  birds,  and  has  a  depres- 
sion in  the  middle,  formed  as  if  expressly  to  facilitate  the 
process  of  ejectment.  This  view  is  further  confirmed  by 
the  fact  that  this  selfish  propensity  of  the  young  cuckoo 
gradually  subsides  and  disappears  completely  about  the 
twelfth  day,  when  the  peculiarity  in  the  back  is  no  longer 
to  be  seen. 

Besides  the  circumstances  mentioned,  the  old  cuckoo 
remains  too  short  a  time  in  this  country  to  admit  of  its 
rearing  its  offspring  to  maturity.  The  eggs  are  laid  at 
intervals  from  about  the  middle  of  May  to  the  middle  of 
July,  and  at  the  end  of  that  month  the  old  birds  take  their 
departure.  It  was  therefore  necessary  that  the  young 
should  be  left  in  charge  of  other  birds,  which  might  take 
care  of  them  and  feed  them  when  the  parents  left.  By 
September  or  October  the  young  cuckoos  have  attained 
strength  sufficient  to  enable  them  to  set  out  toward  their 
winter-quarters.  From  the  evidence  now  adduced  we  infer 
that  a  verdict  must  be  given  in  favor  of  the  cuckoo,  as  it 
clearly  appears  that  when  the  bird  drops  her  egg  into  a 
nest  which  is  not  her  own,  she  is  neither  cruel  nor  destitute 
of  maternal  affection,  but  is  only  obeying  an  instinct  of 
her  nature,  which  is,  perhaps,  absolutely  necessary  for  the 
safety  of  the  future  brood  and  the  preservation  of  the 
species. 

Nowhere  is  the  vulture  regarded  with  friendly  eyes,  and 
nothing  that  can  be  said  in  his  favor  will  ever  make  him 
a  lovable  bird.  But,  though  his  appearance  be  fierce  and 
sinister  and  his  occupation  repulsive,  it  must  not  be  for- 


o 


26  Fowls  of  the  Air. 


gotten  that  his  work  is  of  very  great  utility  in  the  countries 
where  he  is  found,  and  that  he  is  admirably  adapted  for 
its  performance. 

In  our  survey  of  Nature  we  are  frequently  reminded  how 
necessary  the  removal  of  dead  matter  is  to  the  salubrity 
of  the  air  by  the  care  which  the  Creator  has  taken  to  pro 
vide  for  it.  In  another  part  of  this  book  it  has  been  seen 
how  innumerable  infusorial  animalcules  are  day  and  night 
at  work  in  cleansing  away  minute  animal  rubbish.  Insects 
and  larvae  labor  for  the  same  purpose  ;  and,  in  continuing 
to  ascend  the  scale,  we  find  that  many  of  "  the  fowls  of  the 
air  "  have  been  appointed  to  discover  where  bulky  animal 
matters  are  left  to  decay,  and  to  arrest  decomposition  by 
converting  them  at  once  into  food.  In  this  useful  band 
of  Nature's  scavengers  vultures  occupy  a  foremost  place. 

No  charge  of  cruelty  lies  against  vultures.  They  rarely 
attack  any  thing  with  life,  and  confine  themselves  closely 
to  their  own  special  work.  They  follow  the  movements 
of  the  camp  and  the  caravan,  and  attend  upon  travelers 
and  hunting  parties.  If  a  man  take  a  siesta  in  the  desert, 
observes  a  writer,  he  may  find  on  opening  his  eyes  that 
some  of  those  birds  are  hovering  around,  evidently  spec- 
ulating on  his  death-like  immobility,  and  the  chances  it 
seems  to  hold  out  of  a  speedy  banquet.  The  great  Condor 
of  the  Andes  is  likewise  a  scavenger  in  his  habits.  The 
height  to  which  he  soars  and  the  acuteness  of  his  vision 
doubtless  assist  him  much  in  his  search  for  food. 

Vultures  and  other  scavenger-birds  are  found  to  be  most 
numerous  in  warm  climates,  where  the  speedy  removal  of 
dead  animal  matter  is  more  especially  necessaiy  on  account 
of  the  rapidity  of  its  decomposition.  In  our  own  country, 
also,  the  hooded  and  the  carrion  crow,  as  well  as  some 
other  birds,  perform  a  little  work  of  the  same  kind.  Num- 
bers of  these  birds  were  seen  to  follow  in  the  wake  of  the 
Danish  army  in  its  retreat  from  the  Dannewerke  during 
the  late  war. 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  327 

The  quickness  and  certainty  with  which  vultures  divine 
where  carrion  is,  or  is  likely  to  be,  appears  very  remark- 
able. Hardly  has  the  breath  departed  from  the  dying  horse 
or  camel,  before  they  may  be  seen  gathering  in  the  air  to 
the  banquet.  The  power  by  which  they  thus  almost  in- 
variably congregate  where  carrion  is  to  be  removed  is  not 
clearly  ascertained.  By  some  it  is  attributed  to  the  sense 
of  smell.  But  that  sense  is  little  developed  in  birds,  and 
in  the  vulture  it  appears  to  be  remarkably  obtuse ;  for  that 
bird  has  been  known  neither  to  perceive  nor  suspect  the 
presence  of  carrion  in  a  covered  basket  placed  by  its  side, 
although  the  odor  emanating  from  it  was  overpowering. 
With  greater  reason  the  faculty  has  been  ascribed  to  the 
acuteness  of  their  sight  ;  but  although  this  may  account 
for  it  in  general,  it  hardly  appears  sufficient  to  explain 
every  case.  To  a  certain  extent,  therefore,  the  subject 
still  remains  a  mystery. 

When  gathered  together  at  the  scene  of  their  work,  let 
us  observe  how  admirably  they  have  been  fitted  for  its 
performance.  The  bill  of  birds  has  been  elsewhere  com- 
pared to  a  hand  ;  in  the  vulture  it  is  a  hand  armed  with 
a  very  formidable  weapon.  The  bill  is  both  strong  and 
hard,  and  equally  well  fitted  to  cut,  to  lacerate,  or  to  be 
thrust  into  the  mass  about  to  be  devoured.  Elsewhere, 
too,  the  long  neck  of  birds  has  been  compared  to  an  arm 
to  apply  the  hand-beak  where  it  is  wanted.  In  the  vulture 
this  arm  is  strong,  flexible,  and  muscular,  and  both  it  and 
the  head  are  naked  or  destitute  of  feathers.  Should  we 
not  think  the  better  of  a  workman  who,  in  handling  offen- 
sive matters,  laid  aside  his  coat  and  tucked  up  his  sleeves  ? 
Now  this  is  precisely  what  Nature  has  done  for  the  vulture  ! 
Its  bare  arm  facilitates  the  performance  of  its  work. 
Under  every  aspect  the  service  is  repulsive,  but  how  much 
more  repulsive  it  would  have  been  if  the  "  arm  "  had  been 
covered  with  feathers,  to  be  soiled  with  the  foul  matters 
with  which  it  must  necessarily  come  into  contact. 


328  Fowls  of  the  Air. 

Occasionally  the  vulture  exhibits  qualities  that  entitle  it 
to  rank  among  the  most  sagacious  birds.  A  recent  trav- 
eler in  the  East  tells  us  that  "  in  the  middle  of  the  day 
ostriches  leave  their  eggs  in  the  sand,  forgetting  that  the 
foot  may  crush  them,  or  the  wild  beast  break  them.  High 
in  the  air  about  this  period  of  the  day  a  white  Egyptian 
vulture  may  be  seen,  with  a  large  stone  clutched  between 
his  talons.  Having  carefully  surveyed  the  ground  below 
him  he  suddenly  lets  fall  the  stone,  and  then  follows  it  in 
rapid  descent.  If  the  hunter  now  run  to  the  spot,  he  will 
find  a  nest  of  probably  a  score  of  eggs,  each  equal  in  size 
to  twenty-four  hen's  eggs,  some  of  which  have  been  bro- 
ken by  the  ingenuity  combined  with  the  good  aim  of  the 
vulture." 

The  raven  is  another  bird  which  has  the  misfortune  not 
to  be  a  popular  favorite  ;  but,  admitting  a  few  imperfec- 
tions, he  is  certainly  no  worse  than  many  other  birds 
which  pass  muster  with  a  fair  character.  In  the  East  he 
is  said  to  share  the  repulsive  occupation  of  the  vulture 
and  the  adjutant,  a  kind  of  crane  from  which  the  beautiful 
marabou  feathers  are  derived,  but  in  this  country  at  least 
his  diet  is  less  objectionable.  He  is,  we  fear,  occasionally 
in  the  habit  of  plundering  the  farm-yard ;  but  if  at  rare 
intervals  he  make  free  with  an  ill-guarded  duckling,  the 
loss  is  amply  atoned  for  by  the  war  he  is  always  waging 
in  the  farmer's  interest  against  some  of  the  worst  kinds  of 
vermin.  In  other  respects  the  sober-tinted  bird  is  dis- 
tinguished for  many  excellent  qualities.  He  is  affectionate 
and  faithful  to  his  mate,  attached  to  the  tree  or  the  tower 
of  his  birth,  and  capable  not  only  of  great  tenderness  to 
his  offspring,  but  also  of  attachment  toward  various 
animals,  and  even  to  man  himself.  Superstition  has  un- 
fortunately cast  its  debasing  shadow  upon  the  poor  bird. 
There  are  people  whose  comfort  for  the  day  would  be 
destroyed  were  they  to  meet  a  raven  in  a  lonely  spot,  and 
its  "  ill-omened  croak  "  even  yet  possesses  terror  sufficient 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  329 

to  pale  many  a  cheek.  Surely  it  is  time  for  the  wide- 
spreading  knowledge  of  the  day  to  dissipate  such  puerile 
fancies,  more  especially  as  they  are  often  suggestive  of 
cruel  acts  against  these  harmless  creatures. 

Ravens  were  chosen  on  one  remarkable  occasion  to 
show  forth  God's  power  and  mercy,  by  conveying  to  Elijah 
the  food  on  which  he  lived  when  he  was  a  fugitive  :  "  And 
the  word  of  the  Lord  came  unto  him,  saying,  Get  thee 
hence,  and  turn  thee  eastward,  and  hide  thyself  by  the 
brook  Cherith,  that  is  before  Jordan.  And  it  shall  be, 
that  thou  shalt  drink  of  the  brook  ;  and  I  have  com- 
manded the  ravens  to  feed  thee  there."  "  And  the  ravens 
brought  him  bread  and  flesh  in  the  morning,  and  bread 
and  flesh  in  the  evening."  —  1  Kings  xvii.  Ravens  are  also 
interesting  to  us  from  their  having  been  selected  by  Christ 
to  inculcate  upon  all  men  the  lesson  of  trustfulness  in 
God  :  "  Consider  the  ravens,  for  they  neither  sow  nor 
reap,  neither  have  storehouse  nor  barn  ;  and  God  feedeth 
them.     How  much  better  are  ye  than  the  fowls." 

In  the  periodical  migrations  of  birds  we  have  a  source 
of  never-failing  wonder.  As  certainly  as  winter  approaches 
and  the  first  icy  blasts  begin  to  blow  over  the  land,  our 
feathered  visitors  from  the  north  swarm  in  upon  us  ;  while 
with  returning  spring  they  wing  their  way  back  again  to 
their  summer  haunts.  In  this  migratory  circle  many  of  our 
winter  wildfowl  annually  revolve.  In  the  land  to  which 
they  repair  they  mate  and  build  their  nests  and  rear  their 
young,  until  the  passing  season  once  more  warns  them 
that  it  is  time  to  depart  for  the  south.  There  is  a  corre- 
sponding southern  migratory  circle,  in  which  the  seasonal 
movements  are  just  reversed  —  our  visitors  coming  in  the 
spring  and  leaving  in  autumn  —  but  which  is  even  more 
interesting  to  us  than  the  former,  since  it  brings  the 
nightingale,  the  swallow,  the  cuckoo,  and  the  other  favorite 
birds  with  which  we  more  especially  associate  the  bright 
days  of  summer.     Migration,  indeed,  strictly  considered, 


330  Fowls  of  the  Air. 

goes  on  to  an  extent  hardly  suspected,  as  it  is  calculated 
that  five  sixths  of  all  the  feathered  tribes  shift  their  quar- 
ters more  or  less  according  to  the  change  of  season. 
Practically,  however,  the  term  is  restricted  to  the  few  birds 
which  take  long  flights. 

The  regularity  with  which  migration   occurs   has  been 
known  from  remote  times,  and  is  frequently  alluded  to  in 
Holy  Writ :  "  The  stork  in  the  heavens  knoweth  her  ap- 
pointed times ;  and  the  turtle  and  the  crane  and  the  swal- 
low observe  the  time  of  their  coming."     So  fixed  is  the 
advent  of  some  of  these  travelers  that,  in  certain  Eastern 
countries    at  the  present  day,  almanacs    are   timed    and 
bargains  struck  upon  the   data  it  supplies.     Nor  is   the 
period  of  return  less  remarkably  punctual  in  some  of  our 
British  birds.     About  the  middle  of  April  the  nightingale 
makes  its  appearance  in  many  localities,  and  there  is  sel- 
dom a  difference  of  more  than  a  day  or  two  in  the  date  of 
its  annual  return  to  the  same  place.     Keen  is  the  contest 
then  between  friendly  neighbors  as  to  who  shall  first  enjoy 
the   pleasure    of  hearing  the   expected   note.     Most    fre- 
quently,   perhaps,  the   nightingale   is  first   heard    in   the 
morning,  because  his  journey  ended  only  during  the  pre- 
vious night  j  but  little  time  is*  lost  before  he  salutes  with 
his  song  the  garden  or  the  copse  of  his  early  clays.     At 
first  his  notes  are  low  and  interrupted,  and  he  seems  as 
if  reserving:  himself  for  the  arrival  of  his  mate.     Like  a 
prudent  pioneer  he  comes  first  by  himself,  as  if  to  see  that 
the  old  ground  is  clear,  and  that  all  things  are  propitious 
for  taking  up  house.     In  a  few  days  thereafter  he  will  be 
joined  by  his  mate,  and  then  the  work  of  the  breeding 
season  will  begin.     There  is  something  extremely  pleasing 
in  the  idea   of  birds  seeking   out   not   only  their   native 
clime  or  country,  but  even  their  native  garden  and   the 
nest  in  which  they  were  born.     Storks  invariably  return  to 
their  old  quarters  j  swallows  not  unfrequently  occupy  the 
same  nest  during  several  consecutive  years,  and  the  same 
remark  applies  to  many  other  birds. 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  331 

The  distances  traversed  in  migration  are  enormous. 
Certain  little  birds  in  America  annually  pass  and  repass 
from  the  Arctic  circle  to  the  Equator.  Africa  appears  to 
be  the  great  winter  home  of  the  "  southern  migration  "  in 
the  Old  World.  Birds  from  the  southwestern  districts  of 
Asia,  from  Syria,  and  ancient  Babylonia,  as  well  as  from 
Russia  and  Turkey,  pass,  like  the  quail,  into  Egypt  and 
parts  adjoining  ;  while  those  with  which  we  are  familiar 
on  the  western  side  of  Europe  return  to  Barbary,  Algiers, 
and  countries  still  further  to  the  south.  Swallows  are  res- 
ident throughout  the  year  in  the  neighborhood  of  Sierra 
Leone,  but  their  numbers  greatly  diminish  in  the  summer, 
which  is  the  period  corresponding  to  their  journey  into 
Europe.  Taking  this  point  as  the  southern  limit  of  their 
migration,  the  length  of  their  flight  may  be  estimated  at 
from  one  to  three  thousand  miles.  Not  without  cause, 
therefore,  do  we  see  bestowed  upon  swallows  a  strength 
of  wing  that  is  extraordinary  in  proportion  to  their  size, 
and  a  rapidity  of  flight  unequaled  in  any  other  class  of 
birds. 

All  migratory  journeys  are  not  performed  upon  the 
wing.  Some  birds,  as  coots  and  rails,  migrate  partly  on 
foot.  The  great  penguin,  the  guillemot,  and  various 
divers  migrate  partly  by  swimming.  Some  American 
water-birds,  according  to  Nuttall,  swim  across  the  lakes, 
and  then  flounder  over  the  intervening  land  which  sepa- 
rates them. 

The  causes  of  migration  and  the  means  by  which  it  is 
so  unerringly  accomplished  have  always  been  a  puzzle  to 
naturalists.  Most  frequently  the  cause  has  been  ascribed 
to  seasonal  changes  of  climate  and  temperature,  and  in  re- 
gard to  these  matters  birds  are  believed  to  be  more  weather- 
wise  than  we  are  ;  or  as  due  to  the  failure  of  the  custom- 
ary supply  of  food,  involving  the  necessity  of  seeking  it 
elsewhere.  Both  circumstances  are  probably  not  without 
influence  in  inducing  migration,  but  there  must  be  besides 


332  Fowls  of  the  Air. 

some  powerful  natural  impulse.  Nightingales  and  swal- 
lows confined  in  cages  begin  to  be  restless  and  agitated 
as  the  usual  period  for  migration  approaches,  although 
they  be  kept  warm  and  carefully  supplied  with  food.  The 
same  thing  happens  even  to  birds  that  have  always  been  in 
confinement,  and  which,  therefore,  cannot  be  influenced  by 
the  example  of  companions.  With  futile  efforts  the  little 
prisoner  beats  the  cage  with  its  wings  and  tries  to  break 
through  the  bars  ;  and  when  at  last  it  sees  the  struggle  is 
in  vain,  it  often  in  despair  pines  away  and  dies.  The  im- 
pulse to  migrate  is  so  irresistible  that  it  sometimes  con- 
quers the  feeling  of  parental  affection  which  is  so  strong 
in  birds,  as  every  year  cases  occur  of  swallows  leaving 
their  offspring  to  perish  miserably  in  the  nest  in  order  to 
troop  off  with  their  companions  to  the  sunny  South. 
These  unlucky  broods  have  been  hatched  so  late  in  the 
year  that  they  have  not  had  time  to  attain  size  and 
strength  sufficient  for  their  journey.  It  is,  therefore,  not 
without  wise  design  that  the  early  period  of  spring  has 
been  fixed  as  the  breeding  season  for  most  birds.  By  this 
arrangement  not  only  have  the  young  ones  the  long  period 
of  summer  abundance  before  them,  during  which  they 
may  grow  and  become  hardy  against  the  approach  of  win- 
ter, but  time  is  also  afforded  to  those  that  are  migratory  to 
acquire  the  requisite  practice  and  strength  of  wing  for 
their  long  flights. 

The  power  which  so  unerringly  guides  the  migratory 
bird  across  strange  seas  and  continents  is  mysterious,  and, 
indeed,  at  present  incomprehensible.  None  of  the  senses 
with  which  we  are  acquainted,  even  though  they  were  de- 
veloped to  the  highest  perfection  we  can  conceive  possible, 
would  suffice  for  the  purpose.  As  birds  are  so  seldom 
seen  when  actually  on  their  journey,  it  is  supposed  they  fly 
chiefly  during  the  night,  and  often  at  such  an  immense 
elevation  in  the  air  that  they  readily  escape  notice.  From 
these  circumstances  it  may  perhaps  be  inferred  that  the 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  3* 


OJ 


lamp  which  guides  them  —  whatever  it  may  be  —  is  not 
dependent  on  external  objects. 

Our  limits  prevent  us  from  doing  more  than  merely 
touch  on  Ornithology,  yet  enough  has  been  said  to  indicate 
some  of  the  many  ways  in  which  the  "  fowls  of  the  air  " 
magnify  the  Creator.  In  reflecting  on  this  subject  we  are 
no  less  struck  by  the  wonderful  things  that  are  achieved 
than  we  are  by  the  simplicity  of  the  means  that  are  em- 
ployed. What  could  be  apparently  a  more  difficult  prob- 
lem than  to  fit  animals,  formed  chiefly  of  such  solid  mate- 
rials as  bone  and  muscle,  to  fly  with  ease  through  the  light 
air  ?  Yet  this  has  been  accomplished  without  the  intro- 
duction into  the  plan  of  creation  of  any  new  type  of  struct- 
ure, but  merely  by  the  skillful  modification  of  structures 
already  existing.  The  feathers,  the  claws,  and  the  beak 
are  only  modified  hairs  or  horn.  The  same  bones  which 
support  fins  in  fishes,  legs  or  paddles  in  reptiles,  or  legs  or 
arms  in  mammalia,  have  by  slight  changes  been  made  the 
framework  of  wings.  The  jaws,  for  reasons  connected 
with  the  food,  form  a  horny  beak  instead  of  teeth.  This 
beak  is  not  only  a  mouth  but  a  hand,  with  the  great  ad- 
vantage for  birds  of  having  the  eyes  set  closely  behind  it. 
The  neck  is  modified  so  as  to  be  a  long,  supple,  dexterous 
arm  to  wield  this  hand.  Mastication  was  inadmissible  in 
the  mouth,  so  the  weak  muscular  fibres  usually  found  en- 
veloping the  stomach  of  vertebrate  animals  are  developed 
into  a  powerful  gizzard  to  crush  the  food  independently 
of  any  assistance  from  the  mouth.  The  anterior  extremi- 
ties being  required  as  wings,  the  posterior  are  admirably 
placed  to  support  the  centre  of  gravity,  and  there  are  few 
animals  which  are  such  excellent  balancers  as  birds. 
Many  birds  rest  by  perching  on  one  leg,  but  notwithstand- 
ing their  skill  in  balancing,  they  would  be  in  danger  of 
falling  off  every  time  they  went  to  sleep,  were  there  no 
self-acting  contrivance  to  assist  them  in  holding  on.  The 
bulky  muscles  which  move  the  toes  are  placed  for  conven- 


334  Fowls  of  the  Air. 

ience'  sake  out  of  the  way  high  up  in  the  leg,  but  they  send 
down  narrow  tendons,  or  cords,  which,  passing  behind  the 
joints  at  either  end  of  the  shank,  popularly  called  the 
leg,  are  inserted  into  the  bones  of  the  feet.  As  the  fowl 
stands  erect  these  tendons  are  to  a  certain  extent  relaxed  ; 
but  the  moment  the  legs  are  bent,  as  in  the  act  of  settling 
to  roost,  the  tendons  are  stretched  tense  over  the  joints,  or 
pullies,  so  as  to  draw  the  toes  and  make  them  mechani- 
cally clasp  the  perch.  If  the  tendons  in  the  shank  of  a 
fowl  after  it  has  been  severed  in  trussing  be  pulled,  the 
nature  of  this  admirable  contrivance  will  be  at  once  com- 
prehended. 

In  some  birds,  as  in  parrots,  the  claws  are  arranged  so 
as  to  grasp  like  a  hand  ;  hence,  considering  the  use  they 
make  of  the  bill,  they  might  be  called  "  three-handed." 
The  legs  and  claws  of  birds  are  planned  in  accordance 
with  their  varying  habits  of  life.  Some  are  made  for 
wading,  others  for  scratching  ;  some  for  tearing,  others  for 
swimming.  The  swimmers  are  web-footed,  and  the  paddle, 
after  having  delivered  its  stroke,  folds  up,  or  as  it  might 
be  technically  called  "  feathers,"  so  as  to  impede  as  little 
as  possible  the  progress  of  the  bird  through  the  water. 
By  hollowing  out  the  bones  into  cylinders,  not  only  has  the 
solid  material  been  disposed  so  as  with  least  weight  to 
afford  the  greatest  strength,  but  by  causing  the  interior  of 
the  bones  to  communicate  with  the  air-passages,  great 
lightness  has  been  given  to  the  entire  bird.  The  numerous 
air-cells  distributed  over  the  body  have  also  contributed 
toward  bringing  the  weight  of  the  living  bird  into  equilib- 
rium with  the  weight  of  the  atmosphere.  The  simplicity 
of  the  means,  the  perfection  with  which  they  are  applied, 
and  the  admirable  results  accomplished,  equally  strike  us 
with  astonishment. 

The  evidences  of  creative  design  are  nowhere  more 
beautifully  displayed  than  in  the  eggs  of  birds,  which  can 
be  watched  with  facility  from   the  earliest  appearance  of 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  335 

the  germ  up  to  the  fully  developed    chick.     The  future 
bird  first  shows  itself  as  a  short  white  line,  or  "  primitive 
streak,"  as  it  is  called,  lying  on  the  membrane  that  con- 
tains the  yolk.     This  germ  gradually  grows  and  develops 
itself,  forming  in  succession  a  spinal  column,  brain,  and 
heart,  with  blood  which  is  at  first  colorless  and  then  red. 
The  other  organs  appear  simultaneously  or  in  succession. 
The  egg  itself,  like   a  seed,  is  stored  with  abundance  of 
food  for  the  embryo  ;  and,  in  proportion  as  this  food  is 
absorbed,  room  is  made  for  the  growth  of  the  chick.     A 
certain  amount  of  aeration  is  required  during  development, 
and,  therefore,  the   shell  has  been  made  porous.     It   is 
essential,  also,  that  the  rudimentary  chick  should  always 
lie  uppermost  in  the  egg,  in  order  that  it  may  thus  be 
placed  next  to  the  warm  body  of  the  hen  during  the  proc- 
ess of  hatching.     To  secure  this  end  the  yolk  is  made  to 
float  freely  in  the  "  white,"  and  the  side  opposite  to   the 
germ  is  weighted  or  "  ballasted,"  so  as  always  to  lie  lower- 
most.    Therefore,  no  matter  how  an  egg  is  laid  down,  the 
germ  will  always  be  found  to  correspond  to  the  side  that 
is  uppermost.     There  is,  moreover,  a  little  reservoir  of  air 
at  the  thick  end  of  the  egg,  easily  recognized  by  its  trans- 
lucency  when  held  before  a  candle,  from  which  the  chick 
slightly  inspires  before  emerging  from   the  shell,  and   is 
thus  enabled  to  emit  the  feeble  chirps  by  which  the  act  is 
sometimes  preceded.     Any  one  who  has  looked   at   the 
newly  born  chick  must  have  wondered  how  such  a  soft 
creature  can  deal  with  so  hard  a  substance  as  its  contain- 
ing shell  ;  but  if  the  upper  part  of  the  beak  be  examined, 
a  few  hard,   horny  scales  will   there   be    noticed.     Thus 
Nature  has  not  forgotten  to  supply  the  chick  with  a  ham- 
mer for  the  purpose  of  breaking  open  its  prison. 

How  truly,  then,  may  it  be  said  that  the  "  fowls  of  the 
air "  magnify  the  goodness  and  power  of  the  Creator  ! 
Heartily  may  we  respond  to  the  invocation  contained  in 
this  verse  of  the  hymn  for  the  sake  of  their  beauty  which 


336  Fowls  of  the  Air. 

gladdens  the  eye,  and  for  the  sake  of  their  songs  which 
delight  the  ear.  Birds  bring;  us  vast  stores  of  food  tc 
nourish  us,  clothing  to  keep  us  warm,  comfortable  beds 
on  which  to  rest,  and  oil  to  cheer  the  gloomy  winter  nights. 
Before  the  lightning  was  pressed  into  our  service,  pigeons 
were  our  swiftest  messengers.  Birds  scatter  and  sow  seeds 
all  over  the  world.  When  their  numbers  are  maintained 
within  reasonable  limits  they  are  valuable  friends  to  the 
farmer,  repaying  him  for  the  grain  which  they  consume  by 
picking  up  the  germs  of  weeds,  and  by  keeping  insect  life 
within  due  bounds.  In  the  great  work  of  intercepting 
and  utilizing  animal  matter  hastening  away  to  destruction 
through  decay,  they  take  their  full  share.  Their  nest- 
building  is  a  lesson  in  neatness,  industry,  and  often  in 
mechanical  construction.  Books  on  Ornithology  are  full 
of  delightful  stories  of  their  affection  toward  their  mates 
and  their  young  ones.  The  interest  they  inspire  dates 
almost  from  the  dawn  of  Sacred  History.  It  was  a  dove 
which  signalized  to  Noah  in  the  ark  that  the  waters  were 
subsiding,  and  it  thus  became  for  ever  associated  in  our 
minds  with  good  tidings,  and  the  passing  away  of  wrath. 

In  glancing  at  the  bright  green  lawns  which  are  so 
pleasingly  characteristic  of  English  country  homes,  a 
shrewd  guess  may  sometimes  be  made  as  to  the  disposi- 
tion of  those  who  are  accustomed  to  walk  about  on  them. 
The  differences  to  be  observed  are  obvious  and  full  of 
meaning.  There  are  a  few  dull  lawns,  like  the  "  desolate 
regions  "  of  the  ocean,  on  which  birds  scarcely  ever  seem 
to  venture.  Incessant  persecution  in  some  form  has  ban- 
ished them  from  its  borders,  and  the  garden  has  thereby 
lost  a  charm  for  which  no  mere  floral  beauty  can  adequately 
compensate.  On  other  lawns  birds  make  their  appearance 
like  timid  intruders.  Seldom  do  they  dare  to  lower  their 
heads  to  feed,  but  with  startled  look  and  outstretched  neck 
they  seem  to  be  always  suspicious  and  uncomfortable. 
But  on  more  genial  lawns  the  little  visitors  alight  as  wel- 


Fowls  of  the  Air.  337 

come  and  protected  favorites,  hop  about  familiarly  as  if 
they  felt  themselves  at  home,  cheer  and  vivify  the  aspect 
of  Nature  around,  and  recognize  in  a  thousand  pretty  but 
indescribable  ways  the  friends  who  are  accustomed  to  feed 
and  pet  them. 

A  bird's-nest,  with  its  eggs  or  callow  brood,  is  no  bad 
lever  with  which  to  cast  out  from  the  young  heart  any 
seeds  of  cruelty  which  ignorance  or  thoughtlessness  may 
have  planted  there.  Among  children  it  is  universally  an 
object  of  the  greatest  interest.  With  what  delighted  curi- 
osity they  fix  their  keen  glances  on  the  nest  to  which  they 
have  been  softly  and  with  bated  breath  led  up,  and  how 
eagerly  they  peer  at  the  pretty  eggs,  or  the  helpless  creat- 
ures lying  huddled  together  in  their  home.  And  if,  per- 
chance, the  mother  has  been  surprised  at  her  duty  of  incu- 
bation, with  what  astonishment  they  behold  the  very  bird 
which  used  to  be  so  timid  on  the  lawn  now  grown  bold 
through  maternal  affection.  Rooted  to  the  nest,  with  body 
motionless,  with  eyes  fixed  and  glassy,  she  appears  as  if 
turned  to  stone.  Seldom,  indeed,  does  the  sight  fail  to 
touch  the  good  feelings  of  the  child,  and  to  bring  them 
into  that  plastic  state  in  which  they  may  be  readily  molded 
to  humanity  and  gentleness.  This  is  the  propitious  mo- 
ment when  the  cruel  impulse  to  seize  and  destroy  may  be 
easily  changed  by  a  few  judicious  words  into  the  abiding 
desire  to  foster  and  protect. 

Teach  me  to  do  Thy  will ;  for  Thou  art  my  God.  —  Ps.  cxliii. 
22 


WHALES,   AND  ALL    THAT  MOVE  LN  THE 

WATERS. 


0  ye  whales,  and  all  that  mo<ve  in  the  "waters,  bless  ye  the  Lord . 
praise  Him,  and    magnify  Him  for  enjer. 

|E  need  not  here  inquire  critically  into  the  mean- 
ing of  the  word  to  which  the  term  "  whale  "  has 
been  applied  in  the  Benedicite,  since  the  invoca- 
tion is  obviously  intended  to  include  every  inhabitant  of 
the  deep.  It  is  well  known  that  the  whale,  although  in 
reality  a  mammiferous  animal,  and  belonging,  therefore,  to 
the  same  class  as  man  himself,  was  always  considered  a 
fish  up  to  the  time  of  Linnasus  ;  and,  indeed,  in  the  minds 
of  not  a  few  it  continues  to  be  regarded  as  a  fish  up  to 
this  very  day. 

The  Three  Children,  in  their  earnest  desire  worthily  to 
praise  God,  passed  in  review  all  His  greatest  works  ;  and 
it  must  be  admitted  that,  had  they  been  masters  of  the 
whole  knowledge  of  Natural  History  accumulated  since 
their  time,  they  could  not  have  selected  any  creature 
"  moving  in  the  waters  "  more  fitted  to  display  the  power 
and  wisdom  of  the  Great  Artificer.  The  whale,  it  is  true, 
must  have  been  comparatively  little  known  at  Babylon,  still 
we  may  presume  that  the  Three  Children  had  heard 
enough  concerning  its  immense  size  and  strength  to  justify 
them  in  singling  it  out  as  the  grandest  representative  of 
marine  life.  It  is  recorded  that  they  were  eminent  for 
their  attainments  ;  and  therefore  they  might  easily  have 
become  acquainted  with  this  animal  from  the  descriptions 
of  merchants  whom  commerce  had  made  familiar  with  the 


All  that  move  in  the   Waters.         339 

productions  of  the  Eastern  and  Mediterranean  Seas. 
There  was  a  time  when  whales  frequented  that  great 
Atlantic  inlet,  and  the  circumstance  of  their  having  now 
forsaken  it  is  probably  due,  not  to  any  difficulty  in  regard 
to  food  or  climate,  but  to  their  having  been  hunted  off  the 
ground.  It  is  well  known  that  seas  which  afforded  rich 
whale-fishings  even  a  century  ago  are  now  barren  and 
profitless,  and  this  timid,  harmless  creature  is  year  by  year 
driven  further  away  from  the  haunts  of  man,  and  deeper 
into  the  recesses  of  the  polar  regions.  He  fights  a  losing 
battle  with  his  human  foes  ;  for,  from  the  more  perfect  ap- 
pliances of  modern  skill,  the  chances  are  ever  growing 
worse  against  him.  It  is  the  opinion  of  many  naturalists 
that  the  Great  Northern  Whale  is  destined  to  disappear 
altogether  from  the  earth  at  no  very  distant  date  ;  and 
then,  like  the  Ichthyosaurus  and  the  other  extinct  animals 
of  bygone  days,  he  will  be  known  only  by  the  bony  relics 
he  may  have  left  behind  him. 

There  are  many  different  kinds  of  whales.  Some,  like 
the  Cachalot  or  Spermaceti  Whale,  are  almost  peculiar  to 
the  southern  hemisphere  ;  others,  as  the  Great  Whalebone 
Whale,  inhabit  the  northern  seas.  It  is  well  to  recollect 
that  the  latter  is  known  by  a  variety  of  names.  Thus  it  is 
often  called  the  Right  Whale,  or  the  Mysticete,  or  the 
Baleen  Whale  ;  again,  it  is  familiarly  termed  the  Green- 
land, or  simply  the  Common  Whale.  We  shall  here  di- 
rect attention  chiefly  to  the  Mysticete,  because  from  better 
acquaintance  with  its  structure  and  habits  we  shall  be  able 
more  clearly  to  perceive  the  fitness  with  which  it  illustrates 
God's  power  and  beneficence. 

The  whale  is  the  leviathan  of  creation.  The  Rorqual, 
a  species  which  sometimes  gets  stranded  on  our  coasts,  is 
a  moving  mass  of  life  often  more  than  a  hundred  feet  long 
and  of  extraordinary  girth,  with  a  weight  which  has  been 
known  to  reach  two  hundred  and  forty-nine  tons.  The 
common  whale  seldom  exceeds  seventy  feet  in  length.     In 


340  Whales,  and 

looking  at  the  skeleton  of  the  latter  preserved  in  the  Mu- 
seum of  the  London  College  of  Surgeons,  we  perceive 
with  astonishment  a  spinal  column  which  in  thickness  and 
strength  might  be  compared  to  the  trunk  of  a  goodly  sized 
tree,  and  which  in  its  thicker  parts  is  built  up  of  massive 
vertebral  blocks,  tied  together  in  the  living  animal  by  the 
toughest  ligaments  and  cartilages.  Yet  every  organ  reared 
upon  this  huge  frame  displays  the  same  wonderful  and  per- 
fect workmanship  throughout.  Every  single  fibre  of  the 
muscle-masses  that  wield  these  ponderous  bones,  and 
every  nerve  and  blood-vessel,  down  to  structures  so  fine 
that  they  cannot  be  seen  without  a  microscope,  or  handled 
without  the  risk  of  being  broken,  have  been  finished  with 
a  delicacy  and  beauty  not  surpassed  in  any  department  of 
creation. 

The  head  of  the  whale  seems  of  monstrous  size,  espe- 
cially when  the  animal  is  viewed  out  of  the  water  and 
stranded  on  the  beach.  In  the  Cachalot,  which  is  often 
seventy  or  eighty  feet  long,  the  head  forms  about  a  third 
of  its  whole  bulk,  a  circumstance  which  is  chiefly  owing  to 
the  spermaceti  lodged  in  a  hollow  on  its  upper  surface. 
The  jaws  of  the  common  whale  are  the  portals  of  a  mouth 
capacious  enough  to  ingulf  a  boat ;  and,  when  brought 
home  as  curiosities  from  Arctic  regions,  they  are  suffi- 
ciently long  and  strong  to  serve  as  piers  for  gates  and  as 
supports  for  swings  in  play-grounds.  Had  the  nature  of 
this  enormous  creature  been  ferocious,  these  jawbones 
would  doubtless  have  been  armed  with  teeth  of  correspond- 
ing size,  and  he  would  have  been  the  most  fearful  tyrant 
of  the  deep  which  it  is  possible  to  conceive  —  a  monster 
more  formidable  than  the  Ichthyosaurus  or  Megalosaurus 
of  ancient  times.  Happily  the  nature  of.  the  common 
whale  is  timid  and  gentle,  and  he  is  formidable  to  nothing 
except  the  small  fry,  medusa^  and  various  little  mollusks 
which  swarm  in  the  polar  sea. 

Though  living  in  the  water,  the  whale,  like  the  dugong, 


All  that  move  in  the   Waters.         341 

porpoise,  dolphin,  and  other  cetacea,  belongs  to  the  mam- 
malian or  highest   class  of   the  Animal  Kingdom.     The 
term   whale-fishing,  therefore,   is  misapplied,  though  now 
fixed  by  custom  beyond  recall ;  whale-hunting  would  be  a 
more  correct  expression.     It  is  distinguished  from  fishes 
by  many  very  clear  marks.     Fishes  breathe  by  gills,  which 
require  the  air  to  be  conveyed  to  them  through  the  me- 
dium of  water.     They  seem  always  to  be  gulping  or  swal- 
lowing water,  while  in  reality  they  are  only  propelling  a 
current  of  it  over  the  vascular  fringes  which  form  the  gills. 
On  the  other  hand,  whales  breathe  by  lungs,  to  which  the 
atmosphere  must  be  directly  admitted.     From  this  cause  a 
fish  dies  if  it  be  kept  long  out  of  the  water,  and  the  whale 
would  be  drowned  if  he  were   kept  very  long  immersed 
in  it.     The  fish  has  "  cold  blood,"  a  heart  with  only  two 
chambers  or  cavities,  and  what  is  termed  "  a  single  circu- 
lation."    The  whale  is  a  "  warm-blooded  "  animal,  has  a 
heart  with  four  cavities,  as  in  man,  and  has  a  "  double  cir- 
culation."    In  the  fish,  therefore,  the  blood  which  is  sent 
from  the  heart  passes  to  the  gills,  and,  after  receiving  the 
small  amount  of  aeration  it  requires,  continues  its  course 
onward  to  nourish  all  parts  of  the  body.     In  the  whale  the 
blood  is  first  propelled  from  the   right  side  of  the  heart, 
through  the    capillaries  of   the    lungs,  to  be  thoroughly 
aerated,  or  arterialized,  and  then  returns  to  the  left  side  of 
the  heart,  whence  it  is  propelled  to  circulate  generally  over 
the   body,  for  the  purpose,  on  the  one  hand,  of  carrying 
nutriment  to  the  various  organs  and  building  them  up  ; 
and,  on  the   other,  of  conveying  away,  in  the   returning 
current  of  venous  blood,  the  rubbish  or  waste  of  the  dif- 
ferent organs  to  the  lungs,  where  it  is  finally  got  rid  of  by 
being  burnt.      Fishes,  moreover,   have    no    external   ear- 
openings  ;  whales  have  them,  and  hear  well  in  the  water. 
Lastly,  fishes   multiply  by  spawning;  whales  bring  forth 
their  young  alive,  and  suckle  them  with  the  greatest  ten- 
derness. 


342  Whales,  and 

The  whale,  being  an  air-breather,  requires  to  rise  at 
intervals  to  the  surface  for  respiration  •  but,  as  its  hunting 
operations  are  chiefly  carried  on  under  water,  it  would 
obviously  be  a  great  hindrance  were  it  obliged  to  come  to 
the  surface  very  frequently  for  that  purpose.  This  circum- 
stance has  not  been  overlooked  by  the  Great  Artificer, 
and  has  been  met  by  special  modifications  of  structure,  i 
which  are  no  less  beautiful  than  wonderful.  It  may  be 
*re  remarked  that  the  absolute  quantity  of  blood  in  a 
whale  is  greater  in  proportion  to  its  size  than  in  most 
other  animals.  The  arrangements  for  its  reception  and 
circulation  are  on  a  corresponding  scale.  Hunter  tells  us 
that  the  heart  and  aorta  of  the  cachalot  "  are  too  large  to 
be  contained  in  a  wide  tub,"  and  that  ten  or  fifteen  gallons 
of  blood  are  pumped  out  by  every  pulsation,  through  an 
aorta  measuring  a  foot  in  diameter.  Paley  estimated  this 
torrent  as  greater  than  the  stream  "  roaring  "  through  the 
main  pipe  of  the  water-works  at  old  London  Bridge ! 
Now,  in  order  to  afford  stowage-room  for  all  this  blood,  it 
is  found  that,  at  various  parts  of  the  circulation,  both  arte- 
ries and  veins  have  been  made  to  assume  a  peculiar  tortu- 
ous or  plexiform  arrangement,  by  which  their  capacity  to 
contain  blood  is  so  increased  that  they  may  be  considered 
as  forming  collectively  a  tubular  reservoir.  When  the 
whale  is  breathing  at  the  surface,  the  arterial  reservoir  natu- 
rally becomes  filled  with  what  may  be  called  a  supplement- 
ary store  of  highly  aerated  blood,  upon  which  the  whale 
draws,  as  it  were,  while  under  water,  until  it  is  exhausted 
by  being  changed  into  venous  blood  in  the  course  of  circu- 
lation. The  whale  must  then  return  to  the  surface  for  a 
fresh  supply.  The  diver,  when  working  at  the  foundations 
of  our  piers  or  forts,  carries  down  with  him  the  air  which 
is  to  renovate  his  blood  ;  but  the  whale  carries  down  a 
supplemental  stock  of  blood  which  is  already  renovated. 
By  means  of  this  simple  but  wonderful  adaptation,  whales 
usually  remain  from  five  to  ten  minutes  under  water  be- 


All  that  move  in  the   Waters.         343 

tween  the  breathing  periods  ;  while  some  of  the  larger 
kinds  are  said  to  be  able  to  remain  for  an  hour  and  a  half 
without  coming  to  the  surface. 

The  whale  does  not  breathe  through  its  mouth,  but 
through  the  nostril  or  "  spiracle,"  placed  conveniently  for 
the  purpose  at  the  very  top  or  apex  of  the  head.  At  such 
times  it  is  to  be  seen  spouting  or  "  blowing."  The  mech- 
anism of  this  act  is  admirable.  In  the  passage  leading  to 
the  nostril  there  is  a  sac  which,  inferiorly,  communicates 
with  the  back  of  the  mouth,  and,  superiorly,  with  the  ex- 
ternal surface  by  means  of  the  spiracle.  When  the  whale 
is  about  to  "  blow,"  the  sac  is  filled  from  the  mouth  with 
water  mixed  with  aif,  and  the  opening  between  the  two  is 
then  closed.  The  sac  is  now  forcibly  compressed  by  a 
muscle  spread  over  it  like  a  net,  by  which  action  the  water, 
unable  to  escape  downward,  is  forcibly  driven  through  the 
upper  aperture,  or  spiracle,  so  as  to  spout  into  the  air  like 
a  water-work.  It  is  as  if  a  caoutchouc  syringe  filled  with 
water  were  suddenly  grasped  by  a  powerful  hand.  To 
make  this  structure  perfect,  the  spiracle  when  not  in  use  is 
closed  partly  by  its  valvular  margin,  but  still  more  effectu- 
ally by  a  hard,  tendinous  structure,  like  a  plug,  which, 
being  drawn  into  the  orifice  by  means  of  a  special  muscle, 
is  held  there  by  the  pressure  of  the  outside  water,  and  the 
greater  that  pressure,  the  more  firmly  is  the  plug  wedged  in. 

The  skin  of  the  whale  is  of  extraordinary  thickness,  and, 
under  several  points  of  view,  illustrates  very  remarkably 
the  wise  design  of  the  Creator.  The  blubber  which  yields 
the  oil  is  not  collected  in  a  layer  under  the  skin,  as  is 
commonly  thought,  but  is  distributed  through  the  sub- 
stance of  the  skin  itself.  To  form  a  correct  idea  of  this 
structure  we  have  only  to  suppose  ordinary  skin  loosened 
or  opened  out  into  innumerable  interstices  or  cells,  in 
which  the  oily  matter  is  lodged.  In  this  manner  fresh 
blubber  acquires  a  firmness  and  elasticity  which  enables 
sailors,  in  "  flensing  "  the  whale,  to  cut  it  up  into  conven- 


344  Whales,  and 

iently  sized  pieces  with  their  spades,  when  it  becomes  ne 
cessary  to  stow  it  away  in  barrels  for  the  homeward  voyage. 

The  oil  thus  lodged  in  the  meshes  of  the  skin  invests  the 
whale  with  a  covering  which  in  many  places  is  two  or  three 
feet  in  thickness,  and  from  its  non-conducting  qualities,  no 
blanket  could  be  conceived  better  calculated  to  preserve 
the  temperature  of  a  warm-blooded  animal  exposed  to  the 
chilling  influences  of  polar  seas.  Without  some  aid  of  this 
kind  it  is  difficult  to  imagine  how  whales  could  exist  in 
such  climates. 

The  blubber  renders  another  important  service  to  the 
whale  by  acting  as  a  float.  Were  there  no  special  con- 
trivance to  assist  in  buoying  up  the  enormous  weight,  of 
muscles  and  bones  which  chiefly  compose  its  bulk,  it  would 
be  difficult  for  the  whale  to  support  itself  at  the  surface  of 
the  sea  for  the  purpose  of  breathing. 

The  blubber-skin  is  likewise  of  essential  use  in  protect- 
ing the  whale  against  the  enormous  pressure  to  which  it  is 
occasionally  exposed  when  swimming  at  great  depths.  On 
the  surface  of  the  sea  the  pressure  is  equal  to  about  fifteen 
pounds  to  the  square  inch  ;  but  at  the  great  depths  to 
which  the  whale  is  known  to  descend,  it  may  be  a  ton,  or 
even  more,  on  the  same  superficial  extent,  a  pressure  suffi- 
cient "  to  force  water  through  the  pores  of  the  hardest 
wood,  so  as  to  make  it  afterward  sink  like  lead."  It  is 
needless  to  observe  that  such  a  degree  of  conrpression  on 
the  internal  organs  of  a  mammalian  would  be  fatal  to  life. 
No  mere  skin,  though  it  were  twice  as  thick  as  the  hide  of 
a  rhinoceros,  and  no  mere  layer  of  fat,  though  twice  as  thick 
as  the  coating  of  blubber  found  in  the  whale,  would  suffice 
to  intercept  it.  But  the  strong,  elastic  combination  of  both 
constituting  the  blubber-skin  answers  the  purpose  admira- 
bly, and,  like  a  barrel,  or  circular  arch  built  round  the 
body  of  the  whale,  defends  the  vital  organs  from  injury. 

The  whale  is  an  expert  swimmer.  "Though  usually  mov- 
ing at  a  gentle  pace,  it  can  skim  over  the  surface  in  a  way 


All  that  -move  in  the   Waters.         345 

which  has  procured  for  it  the  distinction  of  being  called 
"  the  bird  of  the  sea."  When  harpooned,  it  can  dive  into 
what  are  termed  "unfathomable  depths  "  with  startling  ra- 
pidity. Scoresby  tells  us  that  on  one  occasion  a  whale 
which  had  been  struck  carried  the  line  sheer  downward 
for  nearly  a  mile  with  almost  the  quickness  of  an  arrow. 
With  equal  ease  and  velocity  it  can  lift  itself  up  again  to 
the  surface.  In  all  these  movements  it  depends  on  the 
strength  of  its  tail.  The  extremity  of  this  wonderful  scull 
is  flattened  out  into  a  blade,  which  often  has  a  surface 
equal  to  a  hundred  square  feet ;  and,  for  the  sake  of  act- 
ing more  effectually  in  diving  and  lifting  movements,  it  is 
spread  out  horizontally,  not,  as  in  fishes,  vertically.  The 
power  of  the  muscles  which  wield  this  scull  is  enormous. 
When  excited  the  whale  lashes  the  sea  all  around  into 
foam,  and  can  sink  or  crush  a  boat  with  a  single  stroke. 
Darwin  tells  us  that  while  sailing  along  the  coast  of  Terra 
del  Fuego,  he  "  saw  a  grand  sight  in  several  spermaceti 
whales  jumping  upright  quite  out  of  the  water  with  the 
exception  of  their  tail-fins.  As  they  fell  down  sideways, 
they  splashed  the  water  high  up,  and  the  sound  reverber- 
ated like  a  distant  broadside."  When  we  think  of  the 
weight  of  those  whales,  we  may  form  some  idea  of  the 
force  that  must  have  been  required  to  lift  them  up  from 
the  sea  in  the  manner  described.  Who  can  feel  surprised 
that  whaling  should  be  considered  a  service  of  danger  ? 
The  wonder  is  that,  in  the  encounters  which  occur  with 
the  leviathan,  he  should  so  generally  be  worsted. 

In  some  whales,  as  in  the  Cachalot,  the  lower  jaw  is 
furnished  with  powerful  teeth,  which  enable  them  to  prey 
upon  large  fishes,  seals,  and  porpoises.  The  common 
Whalebone  Whale  feeds  chiefly  on  the  myriads  of  diminu- 
tive mollusks,  jelly-fishes,  and  crustaceans  that  abound  in 
the  polar  ocean.  The  scale  of  abundance  on  which  this 
food  is  provided  will  be  found  described  at  page  138, 
and  will  again  be  immediately   noticed.     The  gullet  of 


346  Whales,  and 

the  whale  is  singularly  narrow  in  relation  to  the  size  of 
the  animal,  and  more  especially  does  it  appear  diminutive 
when  contrasted  with  the  vastness  of  the  mouth.  A  good 
authority  affirms  that  the  gullet  does  not  exceed  an  inch 
and  a  half  in  width ;  from  which  it  may  be  inferred  that  a 
morsel  which  could  be  easily  managed  by  a  cormorant" 
or  a  pike  might  possibly  choke  a  whale.  This  circum- 
stance, taken  in  connection  with  the  fact  that  it  has  nei- 
ther teeth  nor  claws,  sufficiently  indicates  that  the  whale 
is  not  formed  to  attack  or  seize  a  large  and  active  prey ; 
nor,  if  the  prey  were  caught,  could  the  whale  rend  it  into 
pieces  small  enough  to  permit  of  its  being  swallowed. 

On  the  other  hand,'  the  whale  is  supplied  with  a  most 
efficient  apparatus  for  catching  the  peculiar  kind  of  food 
on  which  it  is  destined  to  live.  All  round  the  mouth,  in- 
stead of  teeth,  closely  set  plates  of  whalebone,  terminating 
in  thick,  coarse  fringes,  project  from  the  upper  jaw  in  such 
a  way  as  to  convert  the  spacious  cavity  within  into  an 
enormous  sieve.  And,  as  if  the  size  of  this  food-trap  were 
not  ample  enough,  it  has  been  increased  in  several  species 
of  whale  by  dilating  the  floor  of  the  mouth  into  a  large 
bag.  When  the  whale  closes  his  jaws  upon  a  mouthful 
of  food-containing  sea-water,  he  passes  it,  as  it  were, 
through  the  strainer  ;  the  superfluous  water  being  expelled 
through  the  fine  whalebone  meshes,  while  every  thing  that 
is  fit  for  nourishment  is  retained. 

One  of  the  duties  assigned  to  the  whale  in  Nature's 
economy  is  to  check  the  inordinate  increase  of  certain 
kinds  of  animal  life.  Piazzi  Smith  mentions  that,  when 
sailing  along  the  margin  of  the  Trade-winds,  he  fell  in 
with  a  group  of  three  whales  feasting  upon  a  shoal  of 
medusae,  or  jelly-fish.  The  shoal  was  from  thirty  to  forty 
miles  in  length,  and  was  computed  to  contain  not  fewer 
than  225  millions  of  individuals.  Here,  indeed,  was  a  case 
where  Nature's  lavishness  obviously  required  pruning  ;  so 
the  three  whales  had  been   "  told  off"   to  do  the  work 


All  that  move  in  the   Waters.         347 

And  yet,  strange  though  it  may  appear,  the  actual  number 
of  living  creatures  swallowed  by  the  whales  at  their  ban- 
quet was  as  nothing  compared  to  the  countless  millions 
of  organisms  that  are  sometimes  required  to  make  up  a 
feast  for  a  single  medusa  !  On  examining  the  stomach 
of  one  of  these  inert-looking  lumps  of  jelly,  it  was  found 
to  contain  myriads  of  microscopic  diatoms  on  which  the 
medusa  had  been  regaling  when  surprised  by  the  whale. 
To  arrive  approximately  at  the  aggregate  of  life  here  in- 
dicated, one  would  have  to  multiply  the  225  millions  of 
medusae  by  that  infinitely  greater  figure  represented  by  the 
included  diatoms.  The  latter  were  enveloped  in  their 
siliceous  shields,  and  thus  exhibited  a  singular  instance 
where  animals  —  if  such  they  really  are  —  so  hard  that 
they  may  be  described  as  cuirassed  in  flint,  were  selected 
as  a  banquet  by  the  softest  animals  in  creation.  Jelly 
though  the  medusa  be,  these  flinty  substances  cannot  resist 
the  vigorous  action  of  its  digestive  power. 

Circumstantial  evidence  of  the  strongest  kind  suggests 
that  the  great  mysticete  should  be  added  to  the  list  of 
distinguished  arctic  discoverers  ;  for,  at  a  time  when  the 
existence  of  a  northwest  passage  was  still  in  doubt,  the 
question  was  virtually  solved  by  a  Greenland  whale.  In 
the  "  fishery  "  it  is  customary  to  mark  the  harpoons  with 
the  name  of  the  ship  and  the  date  of  the  voyage.  On  one 
occasion  it  happened  that  a  whale  was  killed  not  far  from 
Behring's  Straits,  and  in  its  body  was  found  a  harpoon 
labeled  with  the  name  of  a  Greenland  ship,  by  one  of 
whose  crew  the  weapon  had  been  implanted  at  an  early 
period  of  the  same  season.  The  question  that  naturally 
arose  was  —  How  did  the  whale  get  to  Behring's  Straits  ? 
Now  it  is  ascertained  that  the  common  whale  never  crosses 
the  line  ;  for  the  warm  sea-water  and  the  hot  climate  of 
the  Equator  form  a  barrier  across  which  it  will  not  pass. 
Moreover,  the  interval  since  the  whale  in  question  was 
harpooned  near  Greenland  was  too  short  to  have  afforded 


34-8  Whales,  and 

time  for  it  to  come  round  either  by  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope  or  Cape  Horn.  The  conclusion,  therefore,  which 
almost  necessarily  followed  was  that  the  whale  must  have 
traveled  by  the  short,  direct  route  of  the  northwest  pas- 
sage. The  circumstance  seemed  equally  to  indicate  the 
important  fact  that  the  intervening  Polar  Sea  must  have 
been  almost,  if  not  quite,  open  throughout,  for,  as  we  have 
seen,  the  whale  cannot  remain  long  under  water  at  one 
time. 

The  whale  appears  to  have  been  anciently  captured  in 
the  Bay  of  Biscay  by  the  hardy  fishermen  of  the  coast,  and 
by  the  Norwegians  in  the  German  Ocean,  less  for  the  sake 
of  its  oil  or  whalebone  than  as  an  article  of  food.  We  are 
assured  in  the  Naturalists'  Library  that  when  the  flesh  of 
a  young  whale  is  cleared  of  its  fat,  and  then  broiled  and 
seasoned  with  pepper  and  salt,  it  eats  somewhat  like  coarse 
beef.  Even  the  blubber,  when  pickled  and  boiled,  is  said 
to  be  "very  palatable."  We  know  that  the  Esquimaux 
generally  regard  it  with  great  favor.  A  stranded  whale  is 
truly  a  rich  treasure  to  the  ill-supplied  inhabitants  of  the 
polar  regions.  They  banquet  on  the  flesh,  and  carry  the  oil 
about  with  them  as  a  refreshing  cordial.  When  some  of 
the  internal  membranes  are  dried,  they  become  sufficiently 
transparent  to  serve  as  windows  for  huts.  The  sinews  are 
separated  into  filaments  to  be  used  as  thread  for  sewing. 
Some  of  the  bones  are  fashioned  into  spears  and  harpoons 
for  killing  sea-birds  and  seals.  Various  parts  of  the  whale 
are  likewise  turned  to  account  in  the  construction  of  tents 
and  boats. 

The  English  whale-fishery  began  at  Spitzbergen  in  1598, 
where  it  had  been  previously  carried  on  by  the  Dutch. 
Until  recently  from  1800  to  2000  whales  were  annually 
caught ;  and,  indeed,  the  fishery  has  been  prosecuted  with 
a  perseverance  which  threatens  the  annihilation  of  the 
Northern  whale  altogether.  In  the  arctic  seas  this  inoffen- 
sive animal  has  no  other  enemy  than  man ;  but  in  those 


All  that  move  in  the   Waters.         349 

of  Australia  the  whale,  which  some  assert  is  the  same  as 
the  Northern,  has  to  encounter  the  attacks  of  a  kind  of 
porpoise,  which  are  locally  termed  "  killers."  These  ani- 
mals hunt  in  company,  and  worry  the  whale,  like  a  pack 
of  dogs.  Sometimes  they  bring  the  chase  to  bay,  and  thus 
incidentally  serve  as  "  pointers  "  to  ships  engaged  in  the 
fishery.  Though  smaller  than  the  whale,  many  of  these 
killers  are  25  feet  long,  and,  considering  their  strength  and 
their  terrible  armature  of  teeth,  must  be  very  formidable 
enemies. 

The  whale  is  seen  to  greatest  advantage  when  floating 
lazily  on  the  surface,  or  skimming  lightly  over  it,  and 
spouting  its  curving  stream  of  water  into  the  air.  But 
viewed  as  he  lies  stranded  on  the  shore,  he  is,  perhaps, 
the  most  monstrous  and  ungainly  beast  to  be  found  in 
creation.  Yet  this  huge  lump  of  life  is  animated  with  a 
very  warm  and  affectionate  heart.  The  whale  nurses  her 
young  with  tenderness,  and  carries  it  about  under  her 
flappers  until  it  is  weaned,  or  until  the  growth  of  the  whale- 
bone sieve  in  the  mouth  is  so  far  advanced  as  to  enable  it 
to  catch  food  for  itself.  Often  may  the  pair  be  seen  dis- 
porting themselves  and  gamboling  in  the  water  ;  and,  when 
danger  threatens,  the  mother  either  hastily  bears  its  young 
one  off  to  some  place  of  safety,  or  defends  it  bravely  against 
assailants.  Seldom  can  she  be  made,  even  when  wounded, 
to  seek  her  own  safety  in  flight,  and  sometimes  she  has 
been  known  to  perish  rather  than  desert  her  offspring. 
The  affection  which  the  mated  whales  display  for  each 
other  is  no  less  remarkable.  "  Captain  Anderson  relates 
that  having  struck  one  of  two  whales,  a  male  and  a  female 
that  were  in  company  together,  the  wounded  one  made  a 
long  and  terrible  resistance  ;  it  struck  down  a  boat  with 
five  men  in  it  by  a  single  blow  of  the  tail,  and  all  went  to 
the  bottom.  The  other  still  attended  its  companion  and 
lent  it  every  assistance,  until  at  last  the  whale  that  had 
been  struck  sunk  under  its  wounds,  while  its  faithful  asso- 


35°  Whales,  and 

ciate,  disdaining  to  survive  the  loss,  stretched  itself  upon 
the  dead  animal,  and  shared  its  fate."  Every  old  sailor 
familiar  with  the  "  fishery  "  has  something  to  tell  in  honor 
of  this  peculiar  trait  of  whale-nature.  With  such  stories 
present  in  our  mind,  we  think  less  about  the  whale's  ugli- 
ness than  we  did  before,  and  experience  all  the  pleasure 
of  recognizing  the  play  of  those  warm  affections  which 
always  interest  and  delight,  whether  they  be  exhibited  by 
the  most  beautiful  or  the  most  homely  of  God's  creatures. 

In  Holland  a  considerable  quantity  of  glue  is  manufac- 
tured from  the  mysticete,  but  its  chief  value  consists  in  the 
whalebone  found  in  the  mouth  and  the  oil  contained  in  the 
blubber.  Speaking  anatomically,  whalebone  is  of  the  na- 
ture of  horn,  and  the  loose  fibres  with  which  it  is  fringed 
closely  resemble  a  very  coarse  kind  of  hair.  The  numer- 
ous uses  to  which  it  is  applied  are  familiar  to  all.  The 
skin  of  a  "  good  fish "  will  generally  yield  about  thirty 
tons  of  oil.  The  whale-fishery,  including  that '  of  the 
southern  hemisphere,  has  been  ranked  as  "  the  most  val- 
uable industrial  pursuit  of  the  sea,"  and  gives  employment 
to  vast  fleets  of  ships. 

If  the  productiveness  of  the  ^hale-fishery  be  decreasing 
it  may  be  considered  providential  that  the  falling  off  is 
only  of  recent  date,  and  that  the  discovery  of  many  other 
sources  of  artificial  light  has  been  coincident  with  it. 
Thus  the  seal-tribes  are  rapidly  becoming  rivals  to  the 
whale  in  an  economical  point  of  view.  Oil  extracted  from 
the  liver  of  various  kinds  of  fish  is  now  well  known  in  the 
market.  Many  new  kinds  of  vegetable  oil  are  in  use. 
Vegetable  wax  is  largely  imported.  Camphine  yields  a 
bright  and  economical  light.  Of  greater  importance  is 
the  recent  manufacture  of  paraffine,  or  mineral  oil,  from 
waste  coaly  matters  and  bituminous  shales,  which  is  being 
developed  in  this  country  with  extraordinary  success. 
But  unquestionably  the  greatest  addition  made  to  our 
light-giving  power  in  these  days  has  been  the  discovery  of 


All  that  move  in  the   Waters.         351 

the  oil-springs  of  the  earth,  on  which  some  observations 
have  already  been  made.  Thus  there  is  reason  for  thank- 
fulness when  we  reflect  that,  although  one  source  is  likely 
to  be  impaired,  others  are  gradually  opening  up  to  us 
through  the  never-failing  providence  of  Our  Father. 

Praised  be  the  Lord  daily;  even  the  God  who  helpeth  us,  and  poureth'  His 
benefits  upon  us.  —  Ps.  Ixviii. 

In  the  brief  space  that  remains  for  the  further  consider- 
ation of  "  all  that  move  in  the  waters,"  more  cannot  be 
done  than  merely  to  give  a  rapid  glance  at  some  interest- 
ing points  connected  with  the  habits  and  general  structure 
of  fishes. 

It  is  a  pleasant  sight  to  watch  the  finny  tribes  as  they 
swim  about  in  the  transparent  waters.  The  whole  fish  is 
an  instrument  of  progression,  the  very  ideal  of  easy, 
graceful  movement.  The  filmy,  waving  fins  implanted  on 
its  sides  and  back  balance,  stop,  and  steer,  besides  aiding 
somewhat  in  slight  changes  of  position,  but  the  chief  pro- 
pelling power  is  in  the  tail.  The  entire  body  forms  an 
animated  scull,  of  which  the  bony  vertebral  column  is  the 
stem  and  the  tail-fin  the  blade,  while  the  powerful  muscles 
grouped  advantageously  along  both  sides  ply  it  with  vigor, 
and  urge  the  fish  forward  with  a  dexterity  and  effect 
which  no  artificial  sculling  can  rival.  The  body  of  the 
fish  is  solidly  massed  in  front  to  afford  a  firm  support  from 
which  the  scull  may  work,  and  the  head  is  joined  on  to  it 
without  any  intervening  neck  in  order  that  it  may  offer  a 
stiffer  wedge  in  cleaving  through  the  water.  How  smoothly 
and  with  how  little  effort  fishes  glide  gently  against  the 
current,  or  poise  themselves  nearly  motionless  with  head 
to  stream,  waiting  patiently  for  .their  food  to  float  down 
toward  them.  But,  if  suddenly  alarmed,  the  whole  water 
is  thrown  into  commotion,  as  with  a  few  vigorous  tail- 
strokes  they  dart  away  with  the  quickness  of  an  arrow. 
When  fishes  leap  into  the  air,  they  gain  the  required  in> 


35 2  Whales,  and 

pulse  by  a  sadden  blow  with  the  tail  against  the  resisting 
water.  Even  the  feats  of  the,  so-called,  flying-fish  are 
really  not  flights,  but  immense  bounds  produced  by  a  jerk 
of  the  tail.  The  large  pectoral  fins  are  never  used  as 
wings,  although  they  act  as  parachutes  in  breaking  the 
force  of  the  fall  back  into  the  water. 

The  covering  of  fishes  is  admirably  adapted  to  the  me- 
dium in  which  they  live.  To  resist  the  macerating  action 
of  the  water  they  are,  as  it  were,  tiled  over,  like  the  roof 
of  a  house,  with  impermeable  scales  ;  and  the  direction  in 
which  these  lie  and  overlap  is  the  one  which  offers  the 
least  impediment  in  swimming.  Scales  present  much  va- 
riety of  form  in  different  fishes.  They  are  pretty  objects 
when  viewed  in  the  microscope,  and  are  manufactured  into 
many  kinds  of  useful  ornaments.  Popularly  they  are  re- 
garded as  a  mere  external  epiderm,  but  in  reality  they  are 
developed  within  the  substance  of  the  skin,  and  are  them- 
selves covered  by  the  cuticle  as  well  as  by  a  layer  to  which 
they  owe  their  color.  In  structure  they  approach  more  or 
less  to  the  nature  of  bone. 

In  a  few  fishes,  as  in  the  slender  pipe-fish  and  the  burly 
trunk-fish,  the  scales  are  neatly  joined  together  like  a  piece 
of  finely  tesselated  pavement,  and  have  very  much  the 
character  of  plates  of  bone  covered  with  a  layer  of  enamel. 
This  kind  of  scale-armor,  though  rare  in  existing  fishes, 
was  common  among  the  older  races,  and  universal  among 
those  that  swam  in  the  most  ancient  waters  of  the  globe. 
The  nearest  approach  to  an  external  bony  skeleton  among 
the  fishes  of  this  country  is  found  in  the  sturgeon.  This 
ungainly  creature  is  the  scavenger  of  European  rivers,  rout- 
ing with  its  snout  among  the  mud  and  stones  that  form 
their  bed,  and  it  is  probably  to  guard  against  the  pressure 
and  rough  blows  which  such  an  occupation  involves  that 
it  is  provided  with  this  shield. 

To  diminish  friction  during  rapid  movement,  and  for 
protection  against  the   macerating   action   of   the  water, 


All  that  move  in  the   Waters.         353 

Nature  has  taken  care  that  the  scales  shall  be  well  lubri- 
cated. Birds,  as  is  elsewhere  noticed,  make  their  plum- 
age impermeable  to  water  by  diffusing  an  oily  matter  over 
it  by  means  of  their  bills ;  but  as  the  want  of  a  flexible 
neck  in  fishes  precludes  any  analogous  action,  the  same 
result  is  obtained  by  a  beautifully  designed  modification 
of  structure.  Thus  the  lubricating  glands,  instead  of 
being  gathered  together,  as  in  birds,  so  as  to  form  what 
may  be  termed  an  "  oil-bottle  "  near  the  tail,  are  arranged 
in  a  row  along  either  side  of  the  body,  where  with  their 
investing  scales  they  exhibit  the  conspicuous  "  lateral 
line."  Through  openings  in  these  scales  the  lubricating 
fluid  exudes,  and  is  subsequently  applied  over  the  surface 
by  the  diffusing  action  of  the  water  during  the  movements 
of  the  fish. 

Lying  under  the  spinal  column  in  most  fishes  there  is  a 
sac,  containing  a  mixture  of  nitrogen  and  oxygen  gas,  to 
which  the  term  swim-bladder  is  given  by  physiologists, 
but  which  is  familiarly  known  to  most  persons  as  "the 
sounds."  The  weight  of  the  body  of  a  fish,  bulk  for  bulk, 
is  so  nearly  the  same  as  water,  that  the  mere  distension 
or  collapse  of  this  air-bladder  often  makes  the  difference 
between  floating  and  sinking.  All  fishes  are  not  sup- 
plied with  a  swim-bladder.  As  might  be  anticipated, 
there  is  none  in  the  plaice,  turbot,  sole,  and  many  other 
flat  fishes  habitually  living  near  the  bottom  of  the  water. 
But  it  was  not  to  have  been  expected  that  some  fishes 
which  are  usually  found  near  the  surface,  as  the  red  mul- 
let and  the  mackerel,  are  equally  destitute  of  it ;  while 
the  eel,  which  generally  frequents  the  muddy  bottom  of 
rivers,  has  a  well-developed  swim-bladder.  On  the  whole, 
therefore,  it  may  be  inferred  that,  although  the  flotation 
influence  of  this  sac  must  be  considerable,  it  probably 
serves  for  other  purposes  also. 

Fishes  possess  little  power  either  of  touch  or  taste.    The 
scaliness  of  the  skin,  indeed,  precludes  the  former ;  while 

23 


354  Whales,  and 

the  latter  would  be  unnecessary,  as  the  food  is  for  the  most 
part  merely  seized  and  gorged  or  gulped  down  into  the 
stomach,  without  previously  undergoing  any  thing  that  can 
be  called  mastication.  In  some  fishes,  as  in  the  barbel 
and  rockling,  there  are  flexible  feelers  appended  to  the 
mouth,  which  must  be  considered  as  organs  of  touch  of 
considerable  delicacy,  fitted  to  aid  them  in  the  selection  of 
their  food.  Fishes  also  possess,  in  a  slight  degree,  the 
sense  of  smell.  Hence  they  are  sometimes  caught  by  per- 
sons who  have  smeared  their  hands  with  strongly  scented 
matters ;  and  Mr.  Jesse  relates  that  certain  fishes  which 
he  kept  in  a  pond  gave  the  preference  to  bait  that  had 
been  perfumed.  Hearing  is  a  sense  of  more  importance 
to  fishes,  and,  although  there  is  no  external  opening  or  ear, 
the  essential  parts  of  the  organ  are  found  internally. 
There  can  be  no  doubt,  therefore,  that  they  possess  this 
sense,  though  not  acutely.  In  corroboration  it  may  be 
mentioned  that  in  China  tame  fish  are  sometimes  called 
together  for  feeding  by  means  of  a  whistle  ;  some  have 
been  taught  to  pay  attention  to  the  ringing  of  a  bell ;  while 
others  have  been  seen  to  be  startled  at  the  sound  of  a  gun. 
In  the  latter  case,  however^  the  effect  may  have  been 
produced  by  the  concussion  communicated  to  the  water. 

Vision,  on  the  other  hand,  is  of  high  importance  to 
fishes ;  accordingly  the  nerve  of  seeing  is  largely  devel- 
oped, and  the  optical  apparatus  of  the  eye  is  admirably 
adapted  to  the  medium  in  which  they  live.  Fishes  do  not 
possess  a  lachrymal  gland,  and  it  is  obvious  that  tears  can- 
not be  required  to  moisten  the  eyes  of  animals  living  in 
the  water.  Where  the  obscurity  is  so  great  as  to  afford  no 
light,  eyes  are  of  course  useless,  and  they  are  reduced  by 
thrifty  Nature  to  a  merely  rudimentary  condition.  From 
this  cause  fishes  living  in  the  dark  lakelets  of  the  "  Mam- 
moth Cave  "  of  Kentucky,  which  has  been  traced  for  ten 
miles  underground  and  is  known  to  extend  much  further, 
are  destitute  of  organs  which  they  cannot  turn  to  account. 


All  that  move  in  the   Waters.         355 

But,  as  a  compensation  for  this  visual  defect,  they  are  en- 
dowed with  wonderful  acuteness  of  hearing. 

Fishes  are  preeminently  omnivorous,  and  they  can  deal 
with  every  thing,  from  a  soft  jelly-like  medusa  up  to  hard 
lobsters  and  masses  of  stony  corals.  A  few  browse  peace- 
fully on  tender  sea-weed  or  fresh-water  plants,  but  the  ma- 
jority are  ravenously  carnivorous,  and  prey  upon  one 
another.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  therefore,  that  the 
variety  observed  in  the  number,  shape,  and  position  of  the 
teeth  should  be  greater  in  fishes  than  in  any  other  class 
of  animals.  The  sturgeon  and  a  few  others  have  no  teeth. 
Some  have  only  three  or  four ;  while  in  many  they  are  so 
numerous  that  they  cannot  be  counted.  Some  teeth  are 
so  fine  that  they  resemble  the  pile  on  velvet,  as  in  the 
perch  ;  other  teeth  are  like  bristles,  or  cones,  or  blades 
for  cutting,  or  saws,  or  grinders.  The  mouth  of  a  shark 
bristles  with  the  most  cruel-looking  teeth.  Of  these  some 
are  obviously  designed  for  stabbing  and  cutting,  others  for 
tearing  and  sawing.  The  wolf-fish  has  powerful  front  teeth 
for  seizing,  branching  outward  like  grappling-hooks,  and, 
as  it  finds  its  chief  nourishment  in  lobsters,  whelks,  and 
other  shell-protected  creatures,  it  is  likewise  supplied  with 
some  massive  blocks  of  teeth  between  which  the  shells 
are  crunched  into  fragments.  A  harder  diet  still  forms 
the  favorite  food  of  the  scarus,  or  parrot-fish,  of  the  Pa- 
cific, which,  as  Owen  observes,  "  literally  browses  upon 
the  corals  clothing  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  as  with  a  richly 
tinted-carpet,  just  as  the  ruminant  quadrupeds  crop  the 
herbage  of  the  dry  land."  Its  object  is,  of  course,  to  get  at 
the  minute  polypes  ;  but  as  these,  when  disturbed,  shrink 
into  their  cells,  the  parrot-fish  can  only  reach  them  by 
grinding  down  the  coral  mass  ;  for  which  purpose  its 
strong,  broad  jaws  are  laid  with  teeth  consolidated  to- 
gether like  a  pavement. 

The  voracity  of  fishes  is,  of  course,  no  sign  of  cruelty, 
but  only  the  means  appointed  by  Nature  for  carrying  out 


35 6  Whales,  and 

her  plans  for  the  general  welfare,  in  which  man  himself  is 
interested  more  than  any  other  creature.  Considering  the 
amazing  fecundity  of  fishes,  it  was  essential  that  some 
check  should  be  set  to  guard  against  their  undue  increase. 
An  idea  of  the  rate  at  which  fishes,  if  unchecked,  would 
multiply  may  be  formed  from  the  circumstance  that  nine 
millions  of  eggs  are  estimated  to  exist  in  a  single  cod's 
roe,  and  two  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  in  that  of  a 
perch.  Six  hundred  thousand  have  been  computed  in  the 
roe  of  a  carp  weighing  nine  pounds.  The  roe  of  a  herring 
contains  between  three  and  four  thousand  ova ;  and  it  was 
a  speculation  of  the  sagacious  Buffon  that  a  pair  of  them, 
if  left  undisturbed  for  twenty  years,  would  produce  a  prog- 
eny whose  bulk  would  equal  that  of  the  entire  globe. 
Sprats  are  so  abundant  that  many  hundred  tons  of  them 
are  annually  used  as  manure.  The  profusion  of  life  con- 
tained in  the  roe  is  intended  not  only  to  stock  the  sea,  but 
also  to  feed  its  inhabitants.  The  small  fry  yield  an  abun- 
dance of  food  to  fishes  of  larger  growth,  and  these  last  in 
their  turn  contribute,  more  abundantly,  perhaps,  than  any 
other  sub-kingdom  of  Nature,  to  the  support  of  mankind. 
If  fishes  were  not  voracious,  and  if  they  did  not  prey  on 
one  another,  the  vast  shoals  that  people  the  ocean  could 
not  be  fed.  With  insufficient  nourishment  their  numbers 
would  necessarily  fall  off,  and  the  abundant  supply  now 
granted  to  man  would  thus  be  inevitably  curtailed. 

It  has  been  ascertained  that  in  many  fishes,  among 
which  may  be  mentioned  the  pike,  carp,  tench,  and  eel,  a 
regurgitation  of  food  takes  place  which  is  analogous  to 
rumination  in  quadrupeds.  The  matters  thus  chewed  are 
most  frequently  of  an  animal  nature.  Fishes,  it  is  true, 
have  no  grinders  fixed  along  the  jaws  ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  various  parts  about  the  top  of  the  gullet  are  often 
densely  crowded  with  teeth,  by  which  the  food  is  torn, 
comminuted,  and  otherwise  prepared  for  digestion.  Until 
the  discovery  of  rumination  in  fishes  was  made,  the  exist- 


All  that  move  in  the   Waters,         357 

ence  of  these  teeth  toward  the  back  of  the  throat  was  an 
enigma  to  physiologists. 

Every  angler  has  stories  to  tell  of  the  voracity  of  fishes, 
They  live  for  the  most  part  by  preying  on  each  other. 
That  pleasant  naturalist,  Mr.  Jesse,  mentions  that  on  one 
occasion  he  had  an  opportunity  of  ascertaining  that  eight 
pike,  weighing  five  pounds  each,  consumed  nearly  eight 
hundred  gudgeon  in  three  weeks.  We  will  here  allude 
only  to  one  other  evidence  of  voracity  which  was  exhibited 
at  a  public  lecture  in  Dublin.  It  consisted  of  the  "  skele- 
ton of  a  frog-fish,  two  and  a  half  feet  in  length,  in  whose 
stomach  the  skeleton  of  a  cod  two  feet  long  was  found. 
Within  the  cod  were  contained  two  whitings  of  the  ordi- 
nary size,  while  in  the  stomach  of  each  whiting  were  found 
numerous  half-digested  fishes  which  were  too  small  and 
broken  down  to  admit  of  preservation. 

On  the  other  hand,  Nature  has  set  checks  to  the  voracity 
of  the  tyrants  of  the  deep,  and  the  weaker  fishes  have  not 
been  left  altogether  without  the  means  of  escape  or  de- 
fense. Flat  fishes  partly  owe  their  safety  to  the  sameness 
of  color  subsisting  between  them  and  the  bottom  of  the 
sea  or  river  on  which  they  usually  lie.  We  know  by  expe- 
rience how  difficult  it  is  to  detect  them  so  long  as  they 
remain  motionless  and  half-buried  in  the  mud.  Hence,  as 
fishes  hunt  by  sight,  they  readily  escape  being  seen ;  and 
the  same  inconspicuous  color  which  protects  them  from 
their  enemies,  favors  the  unsuspecting  approach  of  the 
creatures  on  which  they-prey.  So  important  does  color 
appear  to  be,  that  ground  fishes  are  invariably  found  to 
have  the  same  general  tint  as  the  bottom  soil,  whatever 
that  may  be  ;  and,  indeed,  it  is  affirmed  that  fishes  have  to 
a  certain  extent  the  power  of  gradually  changing  their 
color,  and  assimilating  it  to  that  produced  by  alterations 
from  any  cause  in  the  color  of  the  bed  itself. 

Many  fishes,  as  sticklebacks  and  perch,  have  strong 
sharp  spines  implanted  on  the  ridge  of  the  back,  which 


358  Whales,  and 

under  the  excitement  of  fear  or  anger  are  erected  like 
bayonets,  so  as  to  be  equally  available  for  attack  or  defense. 
The  Diodon,  or  Globe-fish  of  the  Brazil  coast,  has  a  very 
singular  means  of  baffling  its  enemies.  This  creature,  by 
swallowing  air,  is  able  to  puff  itself  out  like  a  ball,  during 
which  operation  the  sharp  spines  by  which  its  body  is  beset 
all  over  are  brought  into  an  erect  position.  It  may  be 
easily  supposed  that  a  fish  thus  stuck  round  with  daggers, 
like  a  sea  hedgehog,  has  no  attraction  for  even  the  most 
voracious  of  its  enemies.  It  sometimes  happens,  however, 
that  a  shark  snaps  it  up  before  it  has  had  time  to  inflate 
itself ;  but  no  sooner  does  it  reach  the  stomach  than  it 
begins,  if  the  shark's  teeth  have  left  any  life  in  it,  to  blow 
itself  up  into  a  very  awkward  morsel.  Not  only  has  the 
Diodon  been  found  in  this  situation  inflated  and  bristling, 
but  it  is  asserted  that  it  has  been  known  actually  to  eat  its 
way  out  of  prison. 

The  saw-fish  is  so  called,  because  it  has  the  upper  jaw 
prolonged  into  a  most  formidable  bony  weapon,  from  which 
teeth  project  on  either  side  so  as  to  give  it  somewhat  the 
general  appearance  of  a  saw.  The  sword-fish  has  the 
jaw  lengthened  out  into  a  round  spear  three  or  four  feet 
in  length,  of  great  strength,  and  finely  tapered  to  a  point. 
Men  have  been  stabbed  to  death  by  this  fatal  weapon. 
The  sword-fish  has,  it  is  said,  a  strong  antipathy  to  the 
whale,  and  has  been  known  to  run  full  tilt  at  ships  under 
the  erroneous  idea,  as  it  is  thought,  that  it  was  charging 
one  of  its  natural  enemies.  The  shock  of  the  blow  on 
these  occasions  is  sometimes  so  great  as  to  lead  the  crew 
to  suppose  that  their  ship  has  struck  upon  a  rock.  It  is 
believed  that  ships  have  been  sunk  by  the  water  rushing  in 
through  the  hole  thus  made ;  but  more  frequently  the 
"  spear "  itself  is  broken  off  from  the  violence  of  the 
thrust,  and  the  end  which  is  left  behind  acts  as  an  efficient 
plug. 

Among  the  various  means  of  attack  and  defense  pos« 


All  that  move  in  the   Waters. 


359 


sessed  by  fishes,  the  power  which  a  few  possess  of  dis- 
charging an  electric  shock  at  their  enemies  is,  perhaps,  the 
most  remarkable.  Such  animated  batteries  are  observed 
in  various  fishes,  but  are  chiefly  developed  in  the  Silurus 
of  the  Nile  ;  the  Torpedo,  a  kind  of  Ray  found  in  the 
seas  of  Southern  Europe  •  and  in  the  Gymnotus,  or  elec- 
tric eel,  which  is  peculiar  to  some  of  the  rivers  of  South 
America.  These  fishes  appear  to  have  the  power  not  only 
of  exciting  electricity  in  their  batteries,  but  also  of  par- 
tially regulating  the  direction  in  which  it  is  to  pass  off 
from  their  bodies.  The  capture  of  the  Gymnotus,  as  it  is 
carried  on  in  South  America,  has  been  graphically  de- 
scribed by  Humboldt.  Acting  on  the  fact  that  these 
creatures  exhaust  their  electrical  power,  and  become  in- 
nocuous after  repeated  discharges,  the  natives  forcibly 
drive  horses  into  the  waters  where  they  abound ;  and  after 
the  horses,  to  their  extreme  terror  as  well  as  suffering, 
have  received  all  the  shocks  which  can  be  given  at  that 
time,  the  owners  quietly  step  in,  and  secure  the  spent  eels 
as  prizes. 

The  instincts  and  powers  with  which  the  Creator  has 
endowed  fishes  for  the  purpose  of  meeting  certain  local  or 
climatic  difficulties  are  really  wonderful.  In  Ceylon  many 
reservoirs  and  streams  well  stocked  with  fish  dry  up  dur- 
ing the  hot  season.  In  circumstances  so  desperate  one 
would  think  that  the  fate  of  the  fishes  was  sealed,  but  they 
habitually  rescue  themselves  by  migrating  across  fields 
and  forests  in  quest  of  water.  The  most  extraordinary 
pari  of  the  case  is  that,  if  there  should  happen  to  be  a 
pool  stil.  remaining  in  the  neighborhood,  they  seem  to 
divine  its  situation  by  a  kind  of  instinct,  and  make  for  it 
as  straight  as  a  crow  could  fly.  Sir  J.  E.  Tennent  gives  a 
curious  vignette  in  which  a  troop  of  fishes  are  seen  en 
route  on  one  of  these  occasions,  and  considering  they  are 
almost  as  devoid  of  legs  as  serpents,  without  having  been 
formed  like  them   for  crawling,  it  is  wonderful  what  dis- 


360  Whales,  and 

tances  they  traverse  in  their  journeys.  They  have  the 
instinct  always  to  set  out  by  night,  or  in  the  early  dawn, 
so  that  they  may  have  the  advantage  of  the  dew  then  lying 
heavy  on  the  ground.  As  a  special  provision  against  the 
drought  of  the  climate,  some  of  these  fishes  are  supplied 
with  a  peculiar  structure  near  the  top  of  the  gullet,  depend- 
ent on  an  expansion  of  the  pharyngeal  bones,  which  ena- 
bles them  to  retain  for  a  time  as  much  water  as  is  suffi- 
cient to  keep  the  gills  moist  during  their  venturesome 
journeys.  In  our  own  country  eels  occasionally  travel 
short  distances  across  meadows.  Within  the  tropics  some 
fishes  escape  death  from  starvation  by  burying  themselves 
in  the  mud  on  the  approach  of  the  dry  season.  The  fa- 
mous Lepidosiren  of  the  Gambia  forms  for  itself  a  cell  or 
chamber  in  the  soft  mud,  which  soon  becomes  baked  hard 
over  it,  and  there  it  remains  in  a  torpid  state  until  the 
return  of  the  floods.  Some  fishes  in  Ceylon  insert  their 
head  into  the  mud,  and  bore  in  with  the  whole  body  until 
they  come  to  a  sufficiently  moist  layer,  in  which  they  bury 
themselves.  The  sun  then  bakes  the  superjacent  clay, 
and  seals  them  up  as  in  a  bottle,  where  they  remain  torpid 
until  liberated  by  the  loosening  of  the  mud  on  the  return 
of  the  rainy  season.  In  India,  Siam,  Guiana,  and  else- 
where, there  are  many  migratory  and  burrowing  fishes, 
and  such  probably  exist  to  a  greater  or  less  extent  in  all 
tropical  countries  subject  to  droughts. 

In  higher  latitudes,  on  the  other  hand,  fishes  sometimes 
bury  themselves  on  the  approach  of  cold  weather.  Eels 
for  the  most  part  descend  from  the  shallow  rivulets  to 
deeper  water,  but  many  occasionally  get  caught  by  the 
frost  and  are  sealed  up  in  the  mud.  It  is  said  that  in  some 
parts  of  England  the  country  people  are  in  the  habit  of 
digging  up  half-frozen,  torpid  eels  in  the  winter  time.  On 
the  coast  of  Coromandel  there  is  a  kind  of  perch  which 
not  only  makes  excursions  inland  in  search  of  food,  but 
which  actually  pursues  its  prey,  a  small  crustacean,  up  tall 


All  that  move  in  the    Waters.         361 

trees,  and  is  provided  for  the  purpose  with  a  climbing  ap- 
paratus appended  to  its  fins. 

There  is  not  much  to  be  said  in  praise  of  the  parental 
tenderness  of  fishes.  They  strive  with  the  persevering 
energy  of  instinct  to  ascend  rivers,  approach  shallow 
coasts,  or  get  into  other  situations  favorable  for  the  deposi- 
tion of  their  spawn  ;  but  with  this  act  their  cares  seem  to 
end,  and  the  eggs  are  left  to  take  their  chance.  To  this 
rule,  however,  there  are  a  few  exceptions.  A  shrewd  nat- 
uralist of  ancient  times,  Aristotle,  affirmed  that  in  the 
Mediterranean  there  was  a  fish  which  built  a  sort  of  nest 
or  house,  in  which  it  laid  its  spawn  ;  and  modern  obser- 
vation has  not  only  confirmed  this  statement,  but  has 
shown  that  while  the  Phycis  is  attending  to  her  maternal 
duties  in  the  nest,  her  companion  mounts  guard  outside 
and  protects  her  against  intrusion. 

In  the  muddy  streamlets  of  Guiana  a  fish  is  found 
abundantly  which  the  inhabitants  highly  prize  as  food.  It 
is  locally  called  Hassar,  but  it  has  received  from  natural- 
ists the  name  of  Callichthys  —  beautiful  fish — as  a  trib- 
ute to  its  scaly  splendor.  It  builds  a  kind  of  nest  with 
the  more  delicate  shreds  of  plants  growing  in  the  water ; 
and  the  fishermen,  knowing  the  assiduity  with  which  the 
parents  hover  near  their  spawn,  are  accustomed  to  slip  a 
net  under  the  place  where  the  nest  is  situated,  and  then  by 
suddenly  raising  it  up  out  of  the  water  rarely  fail  to' secure 
them. 

One  of  the  most  genuine  instances  of  parental  and, 
perhaps  we  may  add,  conjugal  affection  observed  in  fishes, 
is  to  be  found  in  the  bright  little  stickleback  with  which 
the  boyish  recollections  of  many  of  us  are  associated. 
Neither  is  it  surpassed,  perhaps  not  equaled,  by  any  other 
fish  in  the  skill  with  which  it  constructs  its  habitation. 
Out  of  stray  bits  of  grass  or  straws  blown  into  the  river, 
or  the  most  delicate  of  the  neighboring  plants,  a  nest  is 
built,  in  shape  not  unlike  a  diminutive  barrel,  with  an 


362  Concluding  Reflections. 

opening  at  each  end  to  facilitate  easy  ingress  and  egress  \ 
and  round  this  castle  the  brave  little  stickleback  mounts 
faithful  guard,  and  tolerates  no  intruders.  Where  these 
fishes  are  numerous  such  castles  abound,  although  from 
their  color,  closely  resembling  that  of  the  other  plantal 
surfaces  around,  it  is  not  easy  to  distinguish  them.  There 
is  something  almost  ludicrous  in  the  bravery  of  this  minute 
champion  —  this  preux  chevalier  —  among  fishes.  The 
Rev.  J.  G.  Wood  tells  us  that  "his  boldness  is  astonishing, 
for  he  will  dash  at  a  fish  ten  times  his  size,  and,  by  dint 
of  his  fierce  onset,  and  his  bristly  spears,  drive  the  enemy 
away.  Even  if  a  stick  be  placed  within  the  sacred  circle, 
he  will  dart  at  it,  repeating  the  assault  as  often  as  the  stick 
may  trespass  upon  his  domains." 

I  will  think  of  all  Thy  works;  and  my  talking  shall  be  of  Thy  doings.— 

Ps.  lxxvii. 


Such  are  a  few  illustrations  .of  the  Power,  Wisdom,  and 
Goodness  of  God,  which  a  cursory  glance  at  Nature  brings 
most  readily  to  our  thoughts  \  but  the  field  is  boundless, 
and,  did  space  permit,  might  be  profitably  surveyed  from 
other  parts.  Below  the  higher  ranks  of  the  Animal  King- 
dom more  especially  noticed  in  this  book,  countless  tribes 
exist,  the  contemplation  of  whose  habits  and  structure  is 
not  less  interesting  to  us,  or  less  glorifying  to  the  Creator. 
It  has  often  occurred  to  me  that,  amid  the  various  branches 
of  education  which  compete  for  the  time  of  youth,  Natural 
History  is  still  too  much  neglected.  What  solid,  endur- 
ing advantages  would  result  were  it  an  established  study, 
instead  of  being  a  mere  accident,  of  school-life  !  Would 
it  not  also  be  better  in  every  point  of  view,  if  more  atten- 
tion  were  directed  toward  it  in   institutions  designed  for 


Concluding  Reflections.  363 

the  improvement  of  the  working-classes,  even  though  it 
trenched  a  little  on  the  time  frequently  devoted  to  politics 
or  critical  discussion  ?  A  profound  acquaintance  with 
Natural  History,  it  is  obvious,  can  only  be  attained  by  few  ; 
but  every  body  in  these  days,  at  the  cost  of  a  little  reading 
of  the  most  agreeable  kind,  may  prepare  himself  with  knowl- 
edge amply  sufficient  to  crowd  his  walks  with  pleasure. 

And  not  with  pleasure  only  !  While  leading  its  followers 
among  the  "  green  things  upon  the  earth,"  the  pursuit  of 
Natural  History  strengthens  both  mind  and  body,  and 
awakens  trains  of  thought  that  are  well  calculated  to  serve 
as  a  shield  against  the  temptation  of  grosser  pleasures. 
Not  many  persons,  perhaps,  habitually  realize  the  extent 
to  which  devotional  feelings  may  be  roused  by  the  contem- 
plation of  surrounding  objects.  Yet  we  cannot  doubt  that 
these  objects  are  placed  there  for  that  very  purpose  ;  and 
when  we  reflect  how  much  they  are  interwoven  with  our 
happiness,  and  the  relief  of  our  wants,  do  they  not  naturally 
excite  us  to  greater  love,  and  suggest  to  us  greater  thank- 
fulness ?  Thus  were  they  wisely  used  by  the  Three  Children 
in  their  hymn.  Nature  is  a  book  written  by  the  finger 
of  God  Himself,  and  of  which  every  page  is  filled  to  over- 
flowing with  illustrations  of  His  wisdom  ;  it  is  a  picture  in 
which  His  Goodness  is  painted  in  colors  of  perfect  truth  ; 
it  is  a  sculpturing  in  which  His  Power  is  expressed  in 
marvels  of  form  and  harmony.  Who  does  not  long  to  be 
able  to  read  this  book,  to  view  with  appreciation  this 
picture,  to  study  with  intelligence  the  wonders  of  this 
sculpturing  ?  Next  to  the  knowledge  which  saves,  what 
more  precious  knowledge  can  there  be  than  this  ? 

It  is  never  too  early  to  instill  tenderness  toward  all 
creatures  into  the  young  heart,  and  it  almost  seems  as  if 
the  attractive  lessons  of  Natural  History  courted  our  notice 
in  order  that  they  might  be  used  for  the  purpose.  Such 
teaching  should  not  depend  exclusively  upon  appeals  to 
feeling,  for  though  a  good  guide  in  the  rr  ain,  it  sometimes 


364  Concluding  Reflections. 

leads  astray,  and  prompts  to  destroy  as  well  as  to  save. 
Feeling,  therefore,  stands  itself  in  need  of  correction,  and 
has  to  learn  its  own  lesson.  With  feeling  must  be  asso- 
ciated some  of  that  knowledge  which  causes  interest  to 
spring  up  in  the  young  mind  ;  but,  above  all,  it  must  be 
imbued  with  the  principle  of  respect  for  the  life  which  Goa 
has  created.  It  is  our  lofty  privilege  to  be  intrusted  with 
dominion  over  every  living  thing ;  but,  as  stewards  of  His 
providence,  we  are  bound  to  carry  out  His  rule  of  govern- 
ment, and  carefully  to  distinguish  between  checking  life 
that  is  injurious,  and  wantonly  destroying  life  that  does  no 
harm.  All  animals  live  by  the  same  title  as  ourselves  — ■ 
the  Will  of  the  Creator  ;  and,  when  unoffending,  they  have 
the  same  right  to  existence.  Let  the  child,  therefore,  be 
taught  to  regard  life  as  sacred  for  the  Creator's  sake.  God 
made  it.  Cruelty  in  the  young  is  for  the  most  part  only  a 
repulsive  form  of  thoughtlessness,  and  a  really  cruel  child 
is  a  rare  phenomenon.  It  is  an  outrage  upon  that  inno- 
cence of  heart -in  which  we  delight  to  think  Nature  has 
enshrined  the  opening  days  of  life.  It  is  a  sight  that  per- 
plexes almost  as  much  as  it  distresses  us.  The  remem- 
brance of  it  haunts  us  like  an  evil  dream,  and  casts  a 
gloom  over  the  rest  of  the  day. 

On  the  other  hand,  how  pleasing  it  is  to  see  childhood 
on  good  -terms  with  all  God's  creatures  —  to  watch  the 
little  one  in  whose  gentle  vocabulary  words  of  disgust  and 
hatred  find  no  place  —  whose  face  brightens  with  sympathy 
toward  all  living  things  —  whose  eyes  sparkle  with  laughter 
at  the  merry  ways  of  dumb  dependents,  and  fill  with  tears 
when  they  die.  How  pleasing  to  see  the  little  hand  that 
plunges  fearlessly  among  the  favorites  of  the  vivarium,  to 
grasp  with  tenderest  care  some  fragile  life  and  hold  it  up 
for  our  admiration.  How  pleasing  to  see  the  child  which 
neither  strikes  down  butterfly  after  butterfly  with  thought- 
less caprice  for  the  sake  of  gazing  for  an  instant  at  their 
beauty,  nor  stamps  its  tiny  foot  with  fury  on  a  beetle  or  a 


Concluding  Reflections.  365 

worm  on  account  of  its  fancied  ugliness.  The  heart  soft- 
ened betimes  will  never  afterward  be  sullied  by  cruelty. 
On  the  contrary,  the  germs  of  kindliness  thus  early  plant- 
ed will  surely  grow  and  ripen,  until  they  cover  with  their 
protection  every  inoffensive  living  thing  that  God  has 
created. 

At  the  beginning  of  this  commentary  it  was  mentioned 
that  a  few  verses  of  the  hymn  would  be  omitted,  not  from 
their  being  unsuited  to  arouse  devotional  feelings,  but  be- 
cause they  were  scarcely  adapted  to  the  kind  of  illustra- 
tion which  has  here  been  followed.  I  cannot,  however, 
pass  from  the  subject  without  at  least  some  allusion  to 
them.  One  verse  carries  our  thoughts  back  to  the  marvel- 
ous thinsrs  that  were  done  in  olden  time  for  the  sake  of 
the  people  whom  God  had  chosen  ;  another  calls  to  our 
remembrance  the  fiery  furnace  at  Babylon,  and  the  ordeal 
through  which  the  Three  Children  passed  in  safety,  be- 
cause they  were  upheld  by  the  power  of  the  Lord.  In 
one  verse,  they  who  are  specially  set  apart  for  the  sacred 
service,  and  are  placed  among  us  as  the  ministers  and 
stewards  of  its  mysteries,  are  called  on  to  join  in  the  work 
of  praise  ;  in  another,  we  are  reminded  of  that  higher  and 
purer  worship  which  angels  and  the  spirits  of  just  men 
made  perfect  are  privileged  to  offer  to  the  Throne.  In  the 
appeal  to  the  holy  and  humble  men  of  heart,  we  recognize 
the  fitness  with  which  holiness  and  humility  are  ever  asso- 
ciated together  as  the  best  preparation  for  approaching  the 
footstool  of  Infinite  Power.  Lastly,  in  the  invocation  ad- 
dressed to  the  servants  of  the  Lord,  and  to  all  the  children 
of  men  we  feel  the  hymn  brought  home  more  especially  to 
ourselves,  and  we  join  heartily  in  the  chant  raised  through- 
out the  universe  in  honor  of  the  Great  Creator. 

It  has  been  my  aim  to  point  out  that  the  beauty  in  which 
"  all  the  works  of  the  Lord  "  are  enshrined  is  not  a  mere 
garnish  on  which  we  are  only  to  expend  criticism  of  praise, 
but  a  substantial  blessing  expressly  created  for  our  enjoy- 


366  Concluding  Reflections. 

ment.  and  for  which  we  ought  to  be  thankful.  With  what 
gratitude  ought  we  not  to  mark  that  all  Nature  is  molded, 
grouped,  and  combined  in  endless  varieties  of  loveliness, 
so  as  most  fully  to  gratify  that  longing  after  beauty  with 
which  we  alone  among  earthly  beings  have  been  endowed  ! 
Can  it  be  right  habitually  to  treat  this  privilege  with 
neglect,  or  to  pass  coldly  on  without  appreciation  or  ac- 
knowledgment ?  This  sense  of  beauty  is  to  be  viewed  as 
the  overflow  of  the  riches  of  our  Father's  love.  After  all 
our  wants  have  been  satisfied,  —  after  wre  have  been  fed 
and  clothed,  housed  and  warmed,  —  this  good  gift  has 
been  added  over  and  above,  as  an  ever-blooming  flower 
laid  upon  our  path  through  life,  to  be  enjoyed  and  acknowl- 
edged with  adoring  thankfulness. 

It  has  likewise  been  my  aim  to  combat  that  apathy 
which  freezes  the  springs  of  gratitude,  and,  which  being 
satisfied  with  general  acknowledgments,  makes  no  effort 
to  understand  the  details  of  providential  design  that  knit 
us  so  lovingly  to  our  Father.  Truly  there  is  nothing  more 
chilling  to  adoration  than  that  indifference  which  hardly 
seems  to  be  conscious  of  the  atmosphere  of  blessings  in 
the  midst  of  which  our  lives  are#  passed,  and  which  accepts 
these  blessings  as  if  they  were  the  results  of  aimless  acci- 
dent, rather  than  guided  specially  toward  our  individual 
selves  by  the  hand  of  God.  How  much  more  happiness- 
bringing  is  it  to  cherish  that  sensitiveness  of  disposition 
which  is  ever  on  the  alert  to  discover  new  evidences  of 
heavenly  love  !  Every  fresh  illustration,  as  it  flashes  upon 
the  mind,  will  then  surely  touch  a  chord  within  which  will 
send  up  adoration  from  the  heart.  To  "  praise  the  Lord 
with  understanding"  is  the  height  to  which  the  Psalmist 
exhorts  us  to  aspire,  but  it  can  only  be  reached  through 
knowledge  and  reflection.  To  the  mind  thus  prepared  the 
words  of  the  Benedicite  are  replete  with  meaning,  and 
never  fail  to  call  forth  the  honoring  worship  they  are  in- 
tended to   awaken.     Where  shall  we  find  a  hymn  in  which 


Concluding  Reflections.  367 

the  Creator  is  more  loftily  portrayed  as  the  Father  who 
blesses  us  —  as  the  All-wise  Architect  whose  work  is 
worthy  to  be  praised  —  and  as  the  mighty  Ruler  of  the 
universe,  to  be  magnified  for  ever  ! 

May  I  venture  on  a  word  of  appeal  to  those  who  fancy 
they  see  a  snare  in  the  exaltation  of  the  material  works  of 
God,  and  suppose  that  the  adoration  which  springs  from 
the  contemplation  of  them  detracts  in  some  way  from  that 
other  adoration  which  is  the  fruit  of  Christian  faith  :  —  as 
if  the  worship  resulting  from  the  contemplation  of  God 
the  Father  and  Creator  were  antagonistic  to  that  arising 
from  the  contemplation  of  the  work  of  God  the  Son  and 
Redeemer.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  a  greater  error.  Our 
Father  lays  no  such  snares  against  the  good  of  his  chil- 
dren ;  if  there  be  a  doubter  let  him  look  round  and  watch 
His  ways.  Natural  Theology  and  Christian  Theology  can 
never  be  really  opposed  or  antagonistic  ;  on  the  contrary, 
they  only  serve  to  strengthen  and  confirm  each  other.  Let 
each  occupy  in  our  thoughts  its  proper  place,  and  then 
neither  of  them  can  be  too  much  cherished. 

In  whatever  direction  we  survey  the  universe,  we  see 
that  nothing  is  isolated,  and  no  one  thing  exists  without 
being  adjusted  to  other  things.  All  is  in  the  most  perfect 
harmony.  Nothing  that  could  be  added,  or  that  could  be 
withdrawn,  would  make  creation  more  perfect  than  it  is. 
In  tracing  the  tender  care  lavished  upon  every  living  thing, 
the  conviction  sinks  deeply  into  our  hearts  that  inexhaust- 
ible benevolence  constitutes  the  design  of  God  to  all.  It 
is  written  everywhere,  and  on  every  thing.  Trustingly, 
contentedly,  hopefully,  therefore,  we  look  upward  to  our 
Father.  The  comfort  of  such  thoughts  is  unspeakable. 
Our  Father  makes  every  thing,  plans  every  thing,  cares  for, 
feeds,  clothes,  and  protects  every  thing  ;  and  if  the  all-wise 
laws  which  govern  the  world  do  sometimes  bring  a  passing 
sorrow  upon  its  inhabitants,  how  little  does  this  appear 
when  compared  with  the  blessings  which  at  every  instant 


368  Concluding  Reflections. 

are  showered  upon  them.  May  it  not  even  be  said,  that 
the  physical  evils  attendant  upon  fallen  nature  are  often  so 
tempered  through  our  Father's  mercy  that  they  seem  to 
change  their  very  nature,  and  to  be  converted  into  bless- 
ings ? 

There  is  something  which  irresistibly  draws  us  on  to 
contemplate  the  attributes  of  the  Deity,  even  although  con- 
scious that  we  can  never  fully  comprehend  them.  His 
Omnipotence  fascinates  our  thoughts.  Though  ever  baf- 
fled, we  return  to  it  again  and  again ;  —  hopeless  to 
fathom,  yet  eager  to  see  more.  At  other  times  we  try  to 
grasp  more  largely  the  idea  of  His  Omnipresence.  Again 
our  efforts  falter  and  break  down.  But,  though  we  cannot 
elevate  our  understanding  to  the  level  of  such  ideas,  there 
is  nothing  in  the  material  world  which  lifts  us  higher  or 
brings  us  nearer  to  success  than  the  marvels  of  Natural 
Theology.  Through  it  we  see  His  presence,  power,  and 
government  proclaimed  by  every  star  that  glimmers  in  the 
depths  of  space,  and  we  feel  that  we  have  thus  won  for 
ourselves  a  loftier  and  clearer  view  of  Him  than  we  had 
before.  Or  if  we  turn  to  the  opposite  end  of  the  material 
world,  we  trace  the  same  mighty  finger  shaping -with  ex- 
quisite skill  the  microscopic  particles  of  matter,  and  the 
perception  that  every  atom  in  creation  is  in  contact  with 
Omnipresence  becomes  more  real  and  practical  than  it  was 
before.  Well  might  the  Psalmist  ask,  —  Whither  shall  I  go 
from  Thy  presence  ?  It  is  as  distinct  and  palpable  at  the 
pole  of  minuteness  as  it  is  at  the  pole  of  immensity. 

A  great  Prophet  —  a  man  after  God's  own  heart,  and 
who  spoke  with  the  authority  of  inspiration  —  has  left  in 
The  Book  of  Psalms  a  standard  by  which  in  all  coming 
time  we  may  learn  how  the  Lord  is  to  be  praised.  As  the 
direct  work  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  it  has  inherently  a  weight 
to  which  nothing  merely  human  can  lay  claim,  and  it  is  in- 
structive to  mark  the  general  agreement  that  subsists  be- 
tween the  last  three  Psalms  of  David  and  the  Song  of  the 


Concluding  Reflections.  369 

Three  Children.  There  is  in  both  the  same  flood-like 
pouring  forth  of  praise,  and  the  same  earnest  striving  thai 
every  thing  in  every  possible  way  should  serve  to  swell  the 
voice  of  universal  adoration.  The  Lord  is  to  be  praised 
"  in  the  sanctuary  "  and  "  in  the  firmament  of  His  power," 
or  throughout  the  realms  of  infinite  space.  He  is  to  be 
praised  with  trumpets,  psaltery,  and  harp  ;  with  timbrel 
and  dance  ;  with  stringed  instruments  and  organs,  and 
high-sounding  cymbals.  How  emphatically  music  is  here 
indicated  as  an  aid  in  the  outward  expression  of  devotional 
feeling,  and  how  vain  it  is  to  affect  to  contemn  as  sensuous 
a  means  which  thus  comes  to  us  not  only  sanctioned,  but 
enjoined,  by  the  inspired  Psalmist.  Ages  change,  and  we 
are  changed  in  them,  but  the  principle  that  was  originally 
good  never  yet  became  evil  merely  through  the  lapse  of 
time  or  the  force  of  accidental  association.  Music  is,  after 
all,  only  one  of  the  ways  by  which  emotion  seeks  to  give 
itself  utterance,  and  when  it  falls  on  sympathizing  ears  it 
sometimes  succeeds  in  helping  to  rouse  or  soften  where 
words  alone  might  fail.  Listen  to  the  strains  in  which  the 
Psalmist  of  Israel  calls  upon  the  whole  universe  of  being 
—  intelligent  and  unintelligent  —  to  join  in  one  glorious 
hymn  of  praise  in  honor  of  their  Lord  and  Creator  :  — - 

Praise  ye  the  Lord  from  the  heavens :  praise  Him  in 
the  heights. 

Praise  ye  Him,  all  His  angels :  praise  ye  Him,  all  His 
hosts. 

Praise  ye  Him,  sun  and  moon :  praise  Him,  all  ye  stars 
of  light. 

Praise  Him,  ye  heaven  of  heavens,  and  ye  waters  that 
be  above  the  heavens. 

Let  them  praise  the  name  of  the  Lord :  for  He  com- 
manded, and  they  were  created. 

He  hath  aiso  stablished  them  for  ever  and  ever :  He 
hath  made  a  decree  which  shall  not  pass. 

24 


370  Conclusion. 

Praise  the  Lord  from  the  earth,  ye  dragons  and  all 
deeps  : 

Fire  and  hail ;  snow  and  vapors  ;  stormy  wind  fulfilling 
His  word  : 

Mountains  and  all  hills ;  fruitful  trees  and  all  cedars ; 

Beasts  and  all  cattle ;  creeping  things  and  flying  fowl : 

Kings  of  the  earth,  and  all  people ;  princes,  and  all 
judges  of  the  earth  : 

Both  young  men  and  maidens  \  old  men  and  children  : 

Let  them  praise  the  name  of  the  Lord :  for  His  name 
alone  is  excellent;  His  glory  is  above  the  earth  and 
heaven. 

Let  every  thing  that  hath  breath  praise  the  Lord.  —  Ps.  cl. 


INDEX. 


A. 

Air-cells  of  birds,  307. 

All  that  swim  in  the  waters,  351. 

Aluminium  and  Alumina,  236. 

Animalcules,  miscroscopic,  211; 
their  use,  214. 

Animals,  their  structure  perfect  in 
relation  to  their  habits  and  func- 
tions, 216. 

Ant-eater  of  South  America,  297. 

Aral,  Sea  of,  balance  maintained 
between  evaporation  and  sup- 
ply, 154- 

Ararat,  Mount,  221. 

Asteroids,  34. 

Astronomy,  the  Father  of  sciences, 
24. 

Atmosphere,  distributes  light,  91 ; 
reflects  light,  93  ;  purified  by 
plants  acted  on  by  light,  92  ; 
causes  of  deterioration,  91 ;  ab- 
sorbs moisture,  101  ;  capacity 
for  vapor  varies  according  to 
temperature,  10 1  ;  necessity  for 
atmospheric  moisture,  103  ;  at- 
mosphere described,  158. 

Aye-aye,  the,  298. 

B. 

Benedicite,  the,  12  ;  its  mean- 
ing sometimes   misunderstood, 


14,  its  fitness  as  an  aid  to 
adoration,  15. 

Beasts  and  Cattle,  286 ;  the 
horse,  287  ;  camel,  287  ;  llama, 
289  ;  elephant,  289  ;  reindeer, 
289 ;  dog,  291 ;  sheep,  292  ; 
kangaroo,  292  ;  buffalo,  bison, 
mammoth,  293  ;  animal  scav- 
engers,   296  ;  ant-eater,    298. 

Babylon,  present  and  past,  7. 

Baltic,  the,  supplied  with  salt 
from  the  North  Sea,  150. 

Barometer,  160. 

Beak  of  birds,  310. 

Birds,  the  song  of,  300 ;  plumage, 
302  ;  wings,  303  ;  buoyancy  in 
flight  how  secured,  307 ;  tem- 
perature of  blood,  308 ;  air- 
cells,  307  ;  diving,  309  ;  beak, 
310;  vision,  312;  digestion, 
312;  habits,  318;  affection  of, 
320. 

Blubber  of  whale,  343. 

Bones  of  birds,  307. 

Buffalo  and  bison,  293. 


Cattle  ;  see  Beasts  and  Cattle. 

Cold,  182  ;  see  Frost  and  Cold. 

Camel,  the,  287. 

Carbonic  acid  gas  in  the  atmos- 
phere, 91  ;  removed  by  plants, 
92. 


372 


Index. 


Caspian  Sea,  balance  maintained 
between  evaporation  and  sup- 
ply, 154. 

Centrifugal  force,  29. 

Chalk,  228. 

Chemical  force,  a  "  Power  of  the 
Lord,"  205. 

Christmas,  83. 

Church-building  and  decoration, 
241. 

Circulation,  capillary,  of  the  ocean, 
148;  in  whales  and  fishes,  341. 

Clay,  236. 

Climate,  76 ;  advantages  of  di- 
versity of,  80 ;  Great  Britain, 
82,  118. 

Clouds ;  see  Waters  above  the 
Firmament. 

Coal,  174. 

Colors,  from  coal-tar,  207. 

Cotton,  254. 

Craigleith  quarry,  239. 

Cuckoo,  the,  323. 

Currents  of  the  ocean,  141. 

D. 

Darkness,   88  ;    see   Light  and 

Darkness. 
Days,  85  ;  see  Nights  and  Days. 
Deserts,    from    absence   of   rain, 

117. 
Dew,   118;  cause  of,   119;  in  the 

East,  119. 
Diving,  of  birds,  309 ;  of  whales, 

345- 
Dog,  the,  291. 

E. 

Earth,  the,  230  ;  glass,  232  ;  pot- 
tery, 234  ;  metals,  237  ;  rocks, 


238 ;  church-building,  241 ;  and 
decoration,  243. 

Earthquakes  dependent  on  sub- 
terranean fire,  204. 

Earthshine,  48. 

Easter,  time  of,  determined  by  the 
moon,  50. 

Egg,  the,  of  birds,  334. 

Eider-down,  306. 

Electricity  and  lightning,  106  ; 
in  fishesj  359. 

Elephant,  the  Siberian,  293. 

Elevation  and  subsidence  of  land, 
203. 

Eye,  the,  88. 


Fire  and  Heat,  171 ;  fuel,  172; 
coal,  174;  petroleum,  178. 

Floods,  134 ;  see  Seas  and 
Floods. 

Fowls  of  the  Air,  300 ;  see 
Birds. 

Frost  and  Cold,  182  ;  snow 
and  ice,    183  ;  snow-huts,  186  ; 

»  cold  temperatures,  187  ;  freez- 
ing of  water,  188  ;  glaciers,  191 ; 
icebergs,  195. 

Feathers,  303. 

Ferocity  in  animals  bestowed  in 
mercy,  294. 

Fishes,  351  ;    scales  of,  352  ;  or- 
gans of  sense,  353  ;  teeth,  355 
fecundity,  356  ;  rumination,  356 
electrical,  359  ;   torpidity,  360 
nest-building,  361. 

Flax-plant,  254. 

Flight  of  birds,  303. 

Forests  of  ancient  Britain,  172, 
272. 

Friction,  199. 


Index. 


373 


Fruit,  temperature  of,  282. 
Furnace,  the  burning  fiery,  10. 


Green  Things  upon  the  Earth, 
251 ;  adjustments  to  climate 
and  physical  conditions,  251  ; 
flax  and  cotton,  254 ;  out  of 
labor  comes  a  blessing,  257; 
variety  of  useful  products  from 
same  plant,  258  ;  tropical  veg- 
etation, 258  ;  polar,  261  ;  seed, 
263  ;  "  green  things  "  in  town, 
267  ;  trees,  269  ;  the  sap,  273  ; 
leaves,  275  ;  wood,  280  ;  me- 
dicinal plants,  283  ;  leaves  form 
mold,  284. 

Gibraltar,  currents  at  Straits   of, 

ISO- 
Gizzard,  the,  in  birds,  312. 

Glaciers,  their  color,  183  ;  de- 
scribed, 191 ;  ancient  glaciers  in 
Britain,  195  ;  Great  Greenland 
glacier,  196 ;  supply  rivers  in 
summer,  225. 

Glass,  233. 

Golden  image,  the,  10. 

Gravity,  solar  and  terrestrial,  198. 

Gulf  Stream,  139. 

Gullet  of  whale,  346. 

Gymnotus  electricus,  359. 

H. 

Heavens,  the,  20  ;  Astronomy 
one  of  the  most  exact  of  sci- 
ences, 21 ;  see  sun,  moon,  stars, 
etc. 

Heat,  171 ;    see  Fire  and  Heat. 

Heat,  internal,  of  earth,  201. 

Herdsmen,  in  the  Bible,  299. 

Hibernation  of  fishes,  360. 


I. 

Introduction,  7. 

Ice,  182  ;  see  Frost  and  Cold 

Icebergs,  195. 

Inland  climates,  77. 

Iron,  manufacture  of,  173. 


Jupiter,  34. 


J. 


K. 


Kangaroo,  the,  292. 
Khamsin,  the,  169. 
Killers,  in  Australian  seas,  enemy 
of  the  whale,  349. 


Light  and  Darkness,  88 ;  the 
eye,  88 ;  light,  distributed  by 
atmosphere,  91  ;  action  on 
plants,  92  ;  importance  to 
health,  96  ;  the  organized  world 
dependent  on  it,  98. 

Lightning  and  Clouds,  106 ; 
artificial  conductors,  108  ;  nat- 
ural, 109. 

Lakes,  ancient,  dried  up,  155  ;  use 
of,  near  river  sources,  155. 

Leaves  the  lungs  of  plants,  275  ; 
purify  atmosphere,  92,  275  ;  ab- 
sorb moisture,  277  ;  conversion 
into  mold,  284. 

Life,  principle  of,  210;  abundance 
in  the  sea,  137. 

Limestone  rocks,  caves  and  rivers 
in,  127. 

M. 

Moon,  43  ;  appearance  of,  45  ;  has 


374 


Index. 


no  atmosphere  or  water,  47  ; 
uses  of,  49. 

Mountains  and  Hills,  220 ; 
Bible  hills,  221;  height,  222; 
influence  on  vegetation,  224; 
sanatoria,  227  ;  often  the  evi- 
dence of  ancient  convulsions, 
227  ;  and  former  abundance  of 
life,  228. 

Marbles,  243. 

Maritime  climates,  77. 

Mars,  33. 

Mediterranean,  color  of,  139  ;  de- 
pendent on  ocean  currents,  149. 

Mercury,  32. 

Metals,  237. 

Migration  of  birds,  329. 

Moisture  in  the  atmosphere,  101. 

Monsoons,   167. 

Mountains  in  the  sun,  31  ;  in  the 
moon,  46. 

Mouth  of  whale,  346  ;  of  fishes, 

355- 

N. 

Nights  and  Days,  85  ;  depend- 
ent on  rotation  of  the  earth, 
85  ;  polar  night,  96. 

Natural  History,  362. 

Nautical  Almanac,  21. 

Navigation,  accuracy  of  modern, 
152. 

Nebuchadnezzar,  9. 

Nebulae,  63. 

Neptune,  discovery  of  the  planet, 
22. 

Nests  of  birds,  327 ;  of  fishes, 
361. 

Nightingale,  the,  329. 

Northwest  passage,  discovered  by 
a  whale,  347. 

Nutrition,  the  succession  of,  98. 


O. 

Ocean,  bed  of,  described,  136  ; 
currents,  141  ;  distributes  heat, 

145- 

Oil  of  whale,  350  ;  other  oils,  350  ; 

in  birds,  314. 

P. 

Powers  of  the  Lord,  198 ; 
gravitation,  198  ;  friction,  199  ; 
chemical  power,  205  ;  vital 
power,  210;  the  evils  they 
sometimes  bring  are  small  in 
comparison  to  the  blessings, 
217. 

Painting,  in  churches,  246. 

Pelican,  the,  319. 

Planets,  are  they  inhabited  ?  38. 

Plants,  medicinal,  283 ;  see 
"  Green  Things." 

Plumage,  302. 

Polar  vegetation,  261. 

Pottery,  234. 

Q- 

Quails,  the  Israelites  fed  with, 
316. 

R. 

Rain,  former  and  latter,  ill;  its 
uses,  112  ;  carried  from  tropical 
to  higher  latitudes,  113  ;  rainy 
seasons  in  tropics,  115  ;  associ- 
ated with  fertility,  116. 

Raven,  the,  328. 

Red  Sea,  dependent  for  water  on 
Indian  Ocean,  150. 

Reflection  of  light,  90. 

Refraction  of  light,  93. 

Reindeer,  289. 


Index. 


375 


Representative  plants  in  different  Solar   space,   excursion  through, 

climates,  80.  32  ;  the  frontiers  of,  35,  67. 

Reservoir  of  water,  the  crust  of  Spiracle  of  whale,  343. 

the  earth  is  a,  126  ;  reservoirs  Springs,  122  ;  see  Wells. 


of  blood  in  the  whale,  341. 
Rocks,  238. 
Rumination  in  fishes,  356. 

s. 

Seas  and  Floods,  134 ;  bed  of 
the  sea,  136  ;  color,  139  ;  phos- 
phorescence and  saltness,  140 ; 
profusion  of  life  in,  137  ;  deso- 
late regions,  138  ;  currents,  142  ; 
distribute  heat,  145. 

Showers  and  Dew,  hi  j  see 
Rain  and  Dew. 

Snow,  182  ;  see  Frost  and  Cold. 

Stars,  the,  51  ;  number,  52,  67  ; 
arrangement,  52  ;  binary  and 
multiple,  53  ;  parallax,  55  ; 
gauging  the  heavens,  61  ;  can- 
not be  magnified,  65  ;  size,  65  ; 
velocity,  66  ;  Milky  Way,  67  ; 
Nebulae,  67  ;  nature  of,  69. 

Sun,  the,  27  ;  attraction  of,  28  ; 
distance,  30 ;  diameter  and 
bulk,  30  ;  temperature,  31  ; 
atmosphere,  32 ;  light  of,  32  ; 
movement  and  position  in  space, 
68  ;  in  polar  regions,  96. 

Sap,  circulation  of,  273. 

Saturn,  35. 

Scales  of  fishes,  352. 

Scavengers,  animal,  214,  296. 

Sculpture,  in  churches,  244. 

Sea-reed,  its  use,  278. 

Seasons,  72  ;  tropical,  78 ;  see 
Winter  and  Summer. 

Seed,  the,  263,  266. 

Sheep,  the,  292. 

Skylark,  the,  301. 


Stickleback,  the,  361. 
Stork,  the,  319. 

Swimming  of  fishes,  35 1 ;  swim- 
bladder,  353. 
Symbolism,  249. 

T. 

Teeth  of  fishes,  355. 
Temperature  of  earth  in  different 

latitudes,  76. 
Text  scrolls,  in  churches,  247. 
Tides,  150;  their  height,  151. 
Torpidity  of  fishes,  360. 
Trade-winds,  163. 
Trees,  269  ;  size,  270  ;  age,  270. 
Tropical     vegetation,     described, 

258. 
Twilight,  94. 


Uranus,  35. 


u. 


V. 


Vapor  in  the  atmosphere,  101  ; 
gathered  in  tropical  seas  to 
be  carried  to  higher  latitudes, 
where  it  supplies  heat  and  rain, 

"3- 

Vegetable  principles,  conversion 
of,  208. 

Venus,  33. 

Volcanic  action,  201. 

Voracity  of  fishes,  357. 

Vulture,  the  ;  its  use,  325  ;  sagac- 
ity, 327. 


376 


Index. 


W. 

Waters  above  the  Firmament, 
ioo  ;  clouds,  their  use,  ioo  ; 
formation,  101. 

Wells,  122  ;  their  importance  in 
the  East,  122  ;  early  appearance 
of,  in  coral  islands,  124  ;  in 
England,  127  ;  Artesian,  128 ; 
spouting,  129;  mineral,  131. 

Whales,  338 ;  the  whale  not  a 
fish,  338,  341  ;  size,  339 ;  cir- 
culation of,  342  ;  spiracle,  343  ; 
bkibber,  343 ;  power  of  the 
tail,  345  ;  narrow  gullet,  346  ; 
the  mouth  and  the  whalebone, 

346  ;  a  whale's  feast,  346  ;  dis- 
covery of  Northwest   passage, 

347  ;  former  distribution,  348  ; 
its  enemies,  348  ;  tenderness  to 
its  young,  349 ;  oil,  350. 


Winds,  158 ;  circulation,  158 
upper  and  lower  currents,  162 
land  and  sea  breeze,  163 
Trades,  164 ;  Monsoons,  167 
use  of  winds,  169. 

Winter  and  Summer,  cause 
of,  72  ;  correspond  to  dry  and 
wet  seasons  within  tropics, 
78  ;   summer  in  polar  regions, 

79- 
Wasps,  destruction  of,  in  autumn, 

295- 

Water,  action  of  "  cold  "  on,  188  ; 
its  circulation,  essential  to  or- 
ganized existence,  157. 

Wings  of  birds,  303. 

Wood,  various  properties  of,  269  ; 
concentric  rings  in,  281  ;  sap* 
wood  and  heart-wood,  282. 


THE  END. 


